


Ways To Salvation

by EllanaSan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection, Some AUs, Unrelated chapters, prompt collection, various seasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 99,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5475182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of stories about Abby and Marcus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I got bitten by the kabby bug so… yeah. I’m making this a collection in case the bug bites again.
> 
> I’ve only watched up to the season 1 finale so far so I hope I didn’t make too much of a mess. I hope I didn’t make too much of a mess in general but Akachankami says it’s okay so I will bow to her superior knowledge and thank her for the beta while I’m at it.
> 
> I needed to write something about what happened before that “salvation” scene because seriouuuuusly something happened. My ship senses are tingling.
> 
> Additionally, it should be noted that this collection almost got called “Salvation comes at a price, my ass” because I’ve been repeating it ever since Marcus stood up.
> 
> Ok, enough babble. I hope you enjoy this!

 

_**His Salvation** _

She doesn’t notice him and he awkwardly shuffles on his feet on the medical bay threshold, watching her dispatch stuff in different boxes, impatiently pushing her hair back over her shoulder each time it falls in her eyes.

It’s only when she reaches for a bigger box at the top of a shelf that he moves out of reflex, grabbing it for her. She looks surprised to see him.

“Thank you.” she says, rather hesitantly. His smile is brief and small, there and gone the next second. He glances at the boxes full to the brim with different medical equipment and she snatches a few things from the one he is still carrying with a light touch of annoyance. “I thought it would be a good idea to spread medical resources equally between all the stations. I am not hoarding it.” She says it almost defensively, as if she thinks he was about to accuse her of stealing.

He supposes that’s what he gets for arresting her so many times.

He supposes he earned her contempt.

He certainly earned his own.

“It’s a good idea.” he offers and she looks surprised once more. She shouldn’t be. He doesn’t like her methods and they are of different opinions more often than not but they’ve both been on the Council for enough time and they are not _always_ of different minds on everything. He respects her – he didn’t always respect her methods, he doesn’t believe in the rash impulsive actions she often takes, but now he doesn’t know if her methods are so wrong anymore, his calculated plans blew up in his face and he has three hundred dead people on his conscience so maybe she has the right idea of it. He chases those thoughts out of his head and gives the room a sweeping look. There are still a lot of things to box up. “Do you need help?”

“We still have a few hours before the launch, I can manage. You don’t need to…” She stops and shrugs. “Don’t you have anyone you want to say goodbye to?”

He answers with his own shrug. “Not really.”

He doesn’t want to think about his mother. Too many things have happened in too little time and he didn’t have time to _process_ it yet.

“Oh.” Abby says and then waves at the shelf behind her and at the stash of plastic wrapped syringes. “One in each box.”

They work in silence for a while. He follows her instructions and he thinks maybe it works better this way with her giving the orders and him executing them. He can do the dirty job if he needs to but experience has proven he shouldn’t be the one making the calls.

“Do you know on which station you will be yet?” she asks eventually.

There has been no real discussion as to how they would be dividing people. Two council members wouldn’t be allowed on the same station, he figures, to make sure some sort of hierarchy survive the fall. Other than that, people will stay with their families and friends, he supposes.

“Yours, if you will have me.” He feels the words leaving his lips, hears his voice uttering them but he isn’t sure where they come from. It seems like a good time as any to come clean so he places the vaccines in one of the boxes and clears his throat. “Abby, I’m sorry. You were right from the start.”

She doesn’t answer at once and, when she does, it’s with enough strength in her voice that he knows she’s trying to bypass the understandable anger and resentment. “You couldn’t know that. You were trying to do the right thing. I can’t fault you for that.” She flashes him a brief strained smile. “And you _did_ save my life. That has to count for something. Granted you tried to kill me twice before that but…” She shrugs the rest of the sentence away. “It will be a new life down there, Kane. We can’t cling to our mistakes. We have to leave them in the past.”

Her words tear a bittersweet snort out of him. He doesn’t think it will be that easy to live and forgive, not in his case.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” he confesses. “I didn’t know… I _hoped_ it would be you. I _hoped_ I would find you.” He reaches for her face tentatively, his shaking fingers not quite brushing her cheek. He feels ridiculous. He _is_ ridiculous probably. “I’m glad you’re alive.” he repeats, his voice dropping to a rough whisper.

The words are inadequate and he hopes she won’t ask what it means because _he doesn’t know_.

He simply knows that the moment of uncertainty between him crouching next to her, commanding her to wake up, and her opening her eyes has been enough for him to understand he really doesn’t want to lose her.

Her face is guarded but the mistrust slowly melts away when she tilts her head slightly. It’s enough for his bandaged hand to finally make contact with her skin and his breath catches in his throat.

Their eyes search the other’s for _something_ , equally confused by what is happening. Marcus _doesn’t know_ what is happening, doesn’t understand. He is simply moved by the same certainty he had in the maintenance shaft : he _needs_ Abby. She balances him and he needs balance, now more than ever.

He doesn’t know who leans in first. It feels as if the artificial gravity failed and his center is shifting. He is drawn to her like he has never been drawn to anything before. He would have expected it to be sweet but the kiss is rough, almost violent with despair and when he tries to step back, she keeps him in place, keeps him to her.

“Abby…” he whispers when their lips part. It sounds like a prayer. Maybe it’s one. They stare at each other, a little shocked, a lot confused, and they lean in again at the same time. Their mouths crash together as they collapse on each other, hands sneaking under fabrics, clothes hastily taken off or pushed out of the way… Once they’re naked and panting and her hands are insistent, trying to make him move, he stills, presses his forehead against hers. “Forgive me.”

“I won’t forgive you if you don’t start moving.” she growls, completely missing the point.

It’s alright. She doesn’t have the power of granting absolution anyway. But, he thinks, as he buries himself in her, so deep he has to close his eyes under the onslaught of sensations, she could be his salvation.

If his mother has taught him one thing, it’s that salvation has to be deserved, fought for.

He wants to deserve her, to fight for her.

Salvation always comes at a price but he is ready to pay it no matter what it will be.


	2. Must Be Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Christmas present for Akachankami so… Yeah… I tried again. :p I hope you like it and it’s not completely stupid. Have a merry Christmas and I love you very much <3

Abby was pacing.

She had been retracing the length of her living-room for some time now. She had dragged down the boxes overflowing with Christmas decorations from the attic and had abandoned them in different places of the room, the huge Christmas tree was sitting in its usual corner, waiting to be decorated, the two mugs of hot chocolate had long cooled down on the coffee table… And Clarke was over a hour late.

When she heard a car engine slowing down to a stop in the street, Abby bolted to the window, pushing the curtain aside only to hold her breath when she glimpsed the _police_ written on the side. _No_ , she thought, _not again_. Clarke had only been eight when a policeman had rung her doorbell to tell her Jake was dead but ten years later, the memory was still fresh in Abby’s mind. She rushed to the front door, slamming it open in her hurry only to pause and gulpe a freezing breath of air in relief when she saw blonde hair getting out of the car, closely followed by ebony black tresses.

Clarke and her best friend Octavia both looked unhurt.

Which didn’t explain why they were in a police car or why they were a hour late.

At seventeen, Clarke wasn’t a bad kid. She was smart and kind but she and Abby had their issues and she had been a little difficult of late. Octavia and her older brother’s influence wasn’t helping. The Blake kids weren’t bad kids either, just unlucky, but they were definitely used to being on their own and authority wasn’t something they were good at respecting. She knew from some conversations with Clarke that the siblings sometimes flirted with the law – something Abby had formerly forbidden her daughter to ever try. Still, she didn’t think it would come _this_ far.

She watched, her heart beating fast, as the police officer got out of the car and escorted both teenagers to the door with a hand on each of their shoulders. She barely registered the dark hair, the beard, the deep eyes or the tentative smile on his lips.

“Clarke, what’s going on?” she asked as soon as her daughter was in hearing range, hoping it wasn’t _too_ bad. If the policeman had brought the girls back _surely_ it wasn’t so bad. Nothing nobody would press charges for. They would get by with a warning and she would lecture Clarke and Octavia until tomorrow morning and ground them both – even though she had no actual authority on the Blake girl.

“Sorry, I’m late.” Clarke said. “Raven’s tire completely blew up…”

“Is she alright?” Abby cut her off, now worried about her daughter’s other friend who spent almost as much time at their house as the Blake kids did – how she had ended up with a house full of kids, she didn’t know, but Clarke had a knack for choosing friends whose family wasn’t exemplary and they all knew they would find the Griffins’ door open if they needed it. “Were you in an accident? Is it…”

“Mom, calm down!” Clark scoffed, rolling her eyes. “It’s _fine_ …”

“You come home in a police car. How is it _fine_ exactly?” Abby snapped, the fear she had felt a few minutes earlier taking over.

“Sorry.” the policeman said, taking his hand from her daughter’s shoulder to outstretch it. “Wrong impression. It was late and the kids didn’t have a ride so Octavia called me.”

“And you are?” she asked with some annoyance, shaking his hand only by reflex. It was warm and a little calloused and she didn’t know why she noticed.

“He’s Marcus.” Clarke sighed as if she really should have figured it out by herself.

“Bellamy’s friend?” she frowned, recalling a couple of conversations where a _Marcus_ had been mentioned.

“Actually, he’s kind of a honorary uncle. Sort of.” Octavia butted in. “It’s cold, Mrs Griffin, can we get in or…”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Abby stuttered, stepping aside to allow the girls inside. The policeman hesitated on the porch and she gestured at him to come in too, slightly embarrassed by her earlier behavior. “Would you care for some tea? Or coffee. I think I have some left.” She was aware she was babbling but now that he was standing in her house, it was a little difficult not to notice he was handsome.

“Marcus Kane.” he offered and faced with her confused expression, he clarified. “That’s my name. Octavia isn’t the greatest at introductions. And you’re Abby, of course. The kids talk about you a lot. You’re a doctor, right? Clarke said something like that once, I think…”

“You know Clarke?” she frowned, not sure if she should be alarmed or irritated that her daughter was apparently well acquainted with handsome policemen who were old enough to be her father.

“She comes to my house when Octavia and Bellamy stay there… She slept over a couple of times.” Marcus explained with his own frown. “And… You didn’t know that.”

Abby rubbed her face, deciding that it was probably some more acting out on her daughter’s part. When Clarke said she was having a sleepover with Octavia, she assumed it was at the Blake’s house – which she was already not thrilled about because Aurora Blake wasn’t the most stable person on the planet – and not at a stranger’s…

“Sorry, who are you again?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest and studying him. He didn’t look like a creep _and_ he was in the police but what did that even mean in their day and age? “Because when the kids talked about a Marcus, I got the impression you were at school with them.”

The man was clearly amused by her attempts at intimidating him.

“I arrested Bellamy a couple of times two years ago and I sort of got involved with the family.” he explained, furrowing his brow as if he wasn’t quite certain of _how_ exactly he had found himself in such a situation. “The kids stay with me when it’s too… complicated at home. Where Octavia goes, Clarke follows, you know how they are… And Raven’s never too far behind either so… Yeah. I didn’t know you weren’t aware of where you daughter was or I would have gotten in touch… I _should_ have gotten in touch before probably, the kids are always going on and on about you…”

He looked a little ill-at-ease and she couldn’t quite fault him because she was still staring at him with her arm crossed as if _she_ was the police officer and he was the suspect.

“Mom, where are the cookies?” Clarke shouted from the kitchen where bangs of cupboard doors and laughter clearly indicated the kids had made themselves at home.

“Where they’re always are! And no cookies before dinner!” she shouted back, not averting her eyes from the man standing in front of her. Slowly, she let go of her defensive attitude and offered a hesitant smile. “So. Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee.” he answered with an almost relieved smile.

He followed into the kitchen where the girls had _indeed_ made themselves at home. Octavia was sitting on the central kitchen island, her feet on the stool right in front of her, and Clarke was using the fancy machine to make themselves some hot chocolate.

“Octavia.” Marcus rebuked with a small frown.

The girl rolled her eyes but jumped from the counter and sat on the stool before raising a defiant eyebrow as if to say _happy now?_ and Abby was suddenly reminded that as difficult as she was, Clarke wasn’t _so_ bad.

Clearly, staying in the same room as two adults was asking too much out of the seventeen years old because they scampered to the living-room with their drinks.

Conversation was complicated at first but after a while Abby relaxed and it flowed more easily. Marcus was a little stiff but quite charming and before she realized it, they were on their second cup of coffee, a hour and a half had passed and she had been laughing more in that brief moment than she could remember laughing in the last year.

“Mom.” Clarke interrupted with a small scowl, her blue eyes darting from her to Marcus. “We’re decorating or what?”

“I should probably go…” he said. “I didn’t mean to intrude…”

“Oh, you can stay and help.” her daughter granted. “We’re too short to reach the top of the tree anyway.”

Abby frowned a little because decorating the house for Christmas was _their_ thing and they had always managed together before. It was obvious Octavia was staying though and thus their little ritual was already disturbed that year. It didn’t take that much to convince Marcus to stay, a polite invitation on her part and an exasperated _“Come on, Kane, it will be fun!”_ from Clarke – she discovered quickly that while he was sometimes _Marcus_ , he was _Kane_ more often than not to the kids, and she discovered that because Bellamy soon showed up in search of his sister, closely followed by Jasper, Monty and Finn.

It wasn’t long before a tinsel fight erupted in her living-room and Abby and Marcus dodged out of the way, seeking refuge next to the door. They watched the teenagers with a mix of fondness and horror.

“Are they like that at your house too?” she asked.

“Yeah.” he sighed. “It’s good, I guess. It means they feel at home.”

Octavia gave a loud shriek when Bellamy grabbed her around the waist so Clarke could empty her handful of tinsel over her head.

It was Jasper who pointed at the adults, laughing, and it wasn’t long before Finn followed in his hilarity. Marcus looked up and back at her, his face was amused but his smile was tentative.

“Mistletoe.” he said. “It must be fate.”

“Why fate?” she asked, glancing up at the mistletoe she was certain he had helped Clarke hanging on earlier. The possibility that he might have steered her in that particular direction crossed her mind.

“Because I have been thinking about kissing you for at least half a hour now.” he admitted, sheepish like a little boy caught in the act.

“I see.” she grinned, her suspicion confirmed. “Well… I wouldn’t dare stand in the path of fate.”

He leaned in and kissed her, his lips lingered a little longer than the traditional peck on the lips warranted. She didn’t complained because when he drew back she instinctively followed.

“ _Gross_.” Octavia declared.

And all the kids burst out laughing.


	3. Must Be Fate (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt : prompting a sequel or prequel or whatever you come up with in the 'marcus is a cop and kisses abby under the mistletoe' verse BECAUSE I NEED MORE *-* thank you!!! ♥

Marcus didn’t know when he had started thinking about the kids as _his_ kids. He wasn’t sure there had been a starting point.

Maybe it had been the first time he had arrested Bellamy while he was stealing coughing syrup from the drugstore and had let him go after a firm dressing down once the boy had explained his baby sister was sick and there was no money to pay for medicine – and if the boy had left with a bottle of coughing syrup Marcus had paid for, well… he had just been doing his job : protect and serve.

Maybe it had been after the third time he had had to deal with Bellamy for stealing food, after the endless thirty minutes he had spent pleading his case with Captain Jaha, when he had calmly but firmly explained to the kid that he was done talking people out of pressing charges against him and that it was the last time they would be letting him go easy, sixteen or not. Bellamy had nodded, thanked him albeit bitterly, and had looked older than a teenager ought to look.

Maybe it had been the time he had met Bellamy in the street with a split lip and a dark bruise on his left eye the boy wouldn’t explain. He had never gotten the story out of him – although it wasn’t really difficult to guess, Aurora Blake’s ‘boyfriends’ weren’t exactly nice men – and the kid had refused to let him drive him to the hospital, arguing that the mother of one of his friends had checked it out already. Marcus had offered to talk to his mother but Bellamy had grown defensive – as resentful as he sometimes was, the boy loved his mom dearly – and had barely accepted the food Marcus had bought for him at a nearby dinner. He would have saved half of it for his sister if Marcus hadn’t told him to eat his full and hadn’t bought another portion for him to take home.

Bellamy didn’t like being in anyone’s debt though so maybe it had been the time right after that, when he had offered the kid a job – a ridiculous one, that had only been a pretense to make sure the boy would stay on the right side of the law, fed and uninjured. Maybe it had been during the few hours spent showing Bellamy how to take care of bonsai trees and the various flowers around his house that he would now be responsible for. Gardening wasn’t about talking and Bellamy wasn’t much of a chatterbox but somewhere between dirt and clippers, they had found ways to communicate.

Maybe it had been the time, not long after that, when Bellamy had showed up on his doorstep with his fourteen years old sister in tow because their mother was _entertaining_ and he didn’t want the girl to hear. If Bellamy was difficult, Octavia was a tiny thing with a rebel princess attitude, a chin that kept jutting in the air, and an endless amount of sass – Marcus would have probably taken offense a few times if she hadn’t looked so _damned_ sad, hurt and lost underneath.

Maybe it had been the time when he had stepped into his guestroom only to realize so many of Octavia’s things had migrated over from the Blake’s house that it might as well lose the “guest” part or when he had given up going into his study because the convertible couch and the rest of the room were now Bellamy’s space.

There had been _so many_ moments over the last two years that it would have been hard to pinpoint the beginning.

Most days, Marcus didn’t even try.

His life hadn’t been particularly happy or sad before, he had been drifting in his existence, trying to do his job in the best way he could, dedicated to the people’s cause. He had been used to late nights at the office, frozen food, and dining alone in front of the TV. Now he came back home more often than not to Bellamy complaining about his job as a janitor – it was temporary while the boy figured out what he wanted to do, university was too expensive and he had repeatedly refused Marcus’ offers for help – and to Octavia listening to music far too loud. Sometimes, his living-room was full of kids camping on the couches, armchairs or on the floor, cramming pizza in their mouth and watching a movie. Gradually, he had gotten used to Raven, Clarke, Finn, Jasper and Monty coming and going.

Selfishly, he preferred those days to those the kids spent at their own home because then the house was cold and dead and he felt lonely. He didn’t know how their mother was dealing with their deserting, they never had any contacts. Somehow, it felt like the arrangement was fragile and could collapse with the wrong word.

“Are you done with the brooding?” Bellamy mocked, punching his shoulder.

Marcus startled a little and glanced at the boy on the passenger seat before going back to watching the road, realizing that he hadn’t been as focused as he ought to with four kids in the car.

The trip from his to the Griffins’ house wasn’t a long one but he had had to detour to pick up Jasper and Monty and the streets were so peaceful on that Christmas day that he had been lulled into a false sense of security. He didn’t know who had the idea of spending Christmas together. Clarke had invited Octavia, Octavia had invited Bellamy, and he figured Abby had surrendered and invited the rest of her daughter’s friends. As for him… He wasn’t quite certain what he was doing there. Clarke had invited him, while she and Octavia had been working on some biology at his kitchen’s table and when he had tried to refuse, she had shot him an impatient look, had told him her mother now expected him to show up and that he better do so in a proper suit.

Which was why he was wearing a suit – unlike the teenagers who were all wearing casual outfits. He sensed there was a set-up somewhere in there but he had failed to get anything out of Bellamy.

“It’s _Kane_.” Octavia snorted from the back seat. “Kane is _never_ done brooding.”

“Maybe he’s not brooding.” Jasper suggested, wriggling his eyebrows. “Maybe he’s thinking about Mrs Griffin…”

That was followed by some laughter from Bellamy and Octavia and a _woohoo_ sound from Monty.

“Okay, okay… Very funny.” Marcus deadpanned. “Please, try to behave _at_ _least_ today. Call it my Christmas gift.”

It was probably telling that he was _Marcus_ or _Kane_ but Clarke’s mother was _Mrs Griffin_.

Abby Griffin was something of a legend to him. Most days, he didn’t understand how the group of friends could work because despite their close ties none of the teenagers seemed to agree on _anything_ but there was one exception to that rule and that was Clarke’s mother. _Every last kid_ who regularly visited his house had a story about Abby.

Bellamy’s one-time-girlfriend-slash-Octavia’s-other-best-friend-slash-Finn’s-ex-girlfriend (keeping up with the group’s dynamics asked a lot out of him) Raven was the one who seemed to love Abby the most. She had apparently allowed Raven to sleep in their guestroom for a whole month when she had nowhere to go, had taken her under her wing, and had helped her find a job as a mechanic.

To Jasper, she was the woman who always had too much food and packed him with leftovers to bring back home – and she always added cake which, for Jasper, was everything.

Abby had nursed Monty back to health after a wrong attempt at fabricating his own moonshine.

Abby had talked Finn through a difficult time.

Abby had raised single-handedly her daughter after her husband had died in a car crash and, if Clark was anything to judge by, she had made a splendid job out of it.

More importantly to him, Abby had taken in Octavia more time than the girl could say when things were too rough at home and had patched up Bellamy quite a few times too. Bellamy wasn’t as at ease as his sister in the Griffins’ house but he was adamant, as were all the other kids, that it was a safe place to go in case of troubles.

In short, Marcus had been hearing tales of the wonderful Abby Griffin for two years and he might have developed a small case of hero worship. So when Octavia had called a couple of weeks earlier because she and Clarke needed a ride back, he had jumped on the occasion to _finally_ meet the woman his kids could never shut up about.

He had almost been scared of being disappointed, man of little faith that he was.

The kids had always gone on and on about how kind and generous she was even though she could be scary when angry… But no one had said she was _beautiful_.

And no one had said either that she had no idea who he was.

He had stupidly assumed that because they were all talking about her to him, they were also talking about him to her.

“I think you’ve got it _bad_ for her.” Bellamy snickered.

Marcus shot him a glare.

“Like you can talk.” Jasper scoffed.

“True, brother.” Octavia teased. “At least Marcus kissed his Griffin girl. How long have you been staring at Clarke with lovesick puppy eyes again?”

“I didn’t _kiss_ her.” Marcus protested. “There was some mistletoe.”

_“Sure_.” the girl drawled out, rolling her eyes, before patting his shoulder. “Let’s blame the mistletoe.”

“Yeah, it’s not like you _actually_ steered her right under it. _Smooth_ , Kane, _really_ smooth.” Bellamy mocked.

“And it’s not like you went on two dates with her, right?” Octavia added with a ruthless smile.

“It was just coffee.” he grumbled, for what must have been the hundredth time – Octavia was never short of teasing on that front. He went ignored.

“Oh, two dates already?” Jasper laughed. “When’s the third? Maybe you will get lucky… It’s on the third date that it gets exciting…”

“How would _you_ know?” Monty taunted.

Jasper made a face at his best friend. “I know enough to know Marcus is going to take Mrs Griffin _home_ , if you know what I mean, next time he…”

“Drop this.” Marcus cut him off. “Now.”

He had used the tone the kids knew better than disobey and thus the conversation swiftly drifted to safer topics.

It wasn’t long before the car stopped in front of the Griffins house. Raven’s battered pick-up was already parked in the lane behind Abby’s car. The kids didn’t wait for him before rushing inside and, he noticed, they didn’t bother to knock either.

He rolled his eyes and opened the trunk to grab the gifts and the food he had insisted they brought over – because his mother had obviously made a better job at raising him than he was doing with the kids since they thought it perfect fine to show up empty-handed when they were invited somewhere.

He was so busy trying to carry everything and grumbling about it that he didn’t notice her approach until she was right next to him.

“Hi.” Abby greeted him. She startled him so much that he bumped his head against the trunk door and dropped everything. She looked more amused than remorseful. “Sorry.” she winced. “Did you hurt yourself?”

She reached out before he could answer and buried her fingers in his thick hair, feeling his skull for a wound of a bump. He stood there transfixed by her gaze, unable to do anything but glance at her lips every so often. He hadn’t been lying to the kids, there had been no dates, just coffee grabbed between her shift at the hospital and his at the station… There had been no more kissing. Some flirting, yes, definitively, but nothing serious or defined and Marcus desperately wanted to ask her out on her real date but was waiting for a right moment that was never coming.

His case of hero worship had been steadily turning into a crush since he met her. Marcus could feel himself falling. Fast and hard.

“No wound, not even a bump.” she declared. “You will live.”

Her fingers ran in his hair a few more times and he suspected it had nothing to do with looking for injuries.

“Is that your professional opinion?” he smirked.

She shrugged and dropped her hands from his hair only to run them over his torso to smooth imaginary creases on his suit.

“You cleaned up good.” she observed.

“So did you.” he retorted. The kids may have gone for casual but she hadn’t. She was wearing a navy blue dress, her hair was loose and she was absolutely _gorgeous_.

She tucked a strand behind her ear and nodded to the inside of the trunk where presents and the plastic food containers laid upturned. “Do you need a hand?”

“As much as I would like to say no and impress you with my strength… Yeah, I do.” he joked.

She grinned at him and reached inside for some of the presents only to straighten up with a small branch of mistletoe between her fingers. He didn’t know how that could have ended up in there. For a second, he thought it was the kids but then he thought maybe _she_ had brought it from the house.

“Mistletoe.” she commented with a detachment the spark in her eyes completely denied. “Must be fate.”

“Why fate?” he asked, echoing her own question from a few weeks earlier.

“Because it has been entirely too long since you last kissed me and I’m starting to think you’re not interested after all.” she replied, surprising him with her frankness.

“Abby…” he said quickly, alarmed. “I am _very much_ interested.”

A corner of her mouth quirked up in a half grin. “Well, what are you waiting for then?”

_The right moment_ , he wanted to say before realizing the right moment was _here_ and he would be a fool not to take it.

He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips against hers, leaving her plenty of time to move away. She clearly lost patience with him because she tangled her fingers in his hair again and pulled him closer. His hands found the small of her back, her lips parted slightly and he took full advantage of it. The kiss wasn’t the innocent peck the first one had been. This one was hard, deep, and it left his heart racing in his chest. Eventually, it slowed down to small pecks but he only stopped kissing her because she was shivering in the cold air.

“Merry Christmas.” he mumbled against her lips.

“Clarke hung _a lot_ of mistletoe around the house. I’m guessing that has to do with Bellamy…” Abby hummed. “Stick close to me and Christmas _will_ be merry.”

What was he to answer to _that_?

He obeyed her command instead, staying close to her at all times.

And Christmas _was_ merry.


	4. Campfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a missing scene for 2x09 because really that campfire scene XD I needed to write it! The muse called! So I hope it’s not too bad and please if you read and like, don’t hesitate to drop me a line to tell me what you thought!   
> Also, warning it’s a bit smutty.

“You should get some rest.”

Marcus’ words were quiet and barely audible over the low buzz of people chatting around the different campfires. Abby sighed, rubbing her shoulder with one hand and shooting a longing glance at the tent at her back. Her eyes quickly darted back to her daughter though.

“Are you sure she will be safe out there?” she whispered, too aware of the many Grounders roaming around.

Marcus had just stated that Clarke was strong but strong and safe were two different things in her experience.

“As safe as any of us.” he told her and it wasn’t really reassuring. He bumped his shoulder with hers with a smirk and nodded at the boy who was sitting a little further away. “Besides, it looks like she has her own bodyguard and good luck going through him.”

Abby watched Bellamy watching her daughter for a few minutes and then sighed again, not knowing what to think about that either. Ever since they had reunited, she felt out of synch with Clarke. Her daughter had been through too much, she wasn’t a child any longer and Abby wasn’t quite sure how to deal with that. As for the numerous love interests trailing after Clarke… It was a matter best left for another day.

She stretched and pretended not to notice when Marcus’ eyes darted down to her chest and back up.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asked. She didn’t like the thought of her people scattered around anymore than she liked the idea of letting Clarke out of her sight. She found herself searching for Marcus more and more ever since they had landed and that was another thing she didn’t quite explain herself – _that_ was a lie, of course, she explained it to herself very well, she simply wasn’t certain it was a good idea to explore this now of all time.

“Here.” he said distractedly and she lifted her eyebrows, shooting him a look of surprise at his straight-forwardness. The lingering looks and constant touching to make sure the other was within arm reach were one thing but a direct invitation to… “I mean in front of the tent, Abby.” he clarified, his eyes twinkling with amusement and clearly fighting to keep a smile off his lips. “You’re the Chancellor, I can’t leave you unguarded. Making sure the Chancellor is safe is part of my job, remember?”

This didn’t quite ring true and she felt a teasing smile blossoming on her lips. “So if Thelonious was here and still Chancellor, you would be sleeping in front of his tent and not mine, is that it?”

He gave her a tiny shrug, worrying a twig between his hands. “That’s one of the perks of you staying Chancellor.”

“What? Guarding my tent instead of his?” she snorted, regretting ever bringing the Jaha subject up at all. That was another problem on the piles of those she had to deal with.

“Well, you’re easier on the eye.” he teased. The way he was watching her though… He was serious and it made her feel… _Good_. _Better_ than good, in fact. She wondered if that was one of the things that could be _easy_ down there – not that she was deluding herself into thinking romantic entanglements were different on Earth than on the Ark but…

“Maybe you should sleep inside with me.” she blurted out, not letting herself think twice about it. “Keep me warm as well as safe.” He accidentally broke the twig in two. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care because he kept watching her in silence, his eyes intent but soft at the same time. Her heart was racing, she could feel the flush burning her cheeks at the thought that she had read the whole situation wrong – it _had_ been a while since the last time she had last had to deal with flirting and interpreting signs and… “It’s cold. Sharing close space is the surest way to avoid hypothermia.” she rambled, averting her eyes. “I just thought…”

“Yes.” he cut her off softly.

She looked up suddenly, startled by the hand he placed on her arm. It was light but it felt heavy with unspoken promises. She glanced at Clarke but her daughter seemed asleep, Bellamy was still watching her and Raven wasn’t far anyway.

“Let’s go to bed then.” she suggested.

The dark spark that flashed in his eyes was hard to miss. The hand resting on her arm slid down to her wrist when she moved and briefly squeezed before letting go. She stepped inside without further hesitation but he lingered long enough to survey the campsite one last time.

The tent wasn’t large, barely big enough for two bedrolls lying side by side, and once he zipped the lapels closed it seemed even tinier. They were lacking a bedroll but she didn’t state the obvious, she sat on her blankets and stared at him instead, blinking in the semi-darkness. He was second-guessing now, she could tell, crouching next to the entrance, watching her watching him.

It was awkward and ridiculous and she laughed.

“I feel like a kid.” she confessed.

“They’re smoother than we are.” he snorted, reaching out to brush her hair away from her face. His fingers trailed on her cheek. “I’m rusty when it comes to seducing.”

“Were you ever good at it?” she grinned.

He took the taunt for the joke it was and snorted. “Not when you’re concerned, obviously.”

She laughed again. “Oh, so arresting me was a seduction tactic, right?” He looked pained for a second and looked down and she stopped laughing _fast_. “Marcus…”

“I’m sorry.” he whispered.

“I know.” she offered, cupping his face.

“Abby…” he breathed out.

She kissed her name from his lips. How long had it been since she had felt a mouth pressed against hers? A year? More than that? She had lost count somewhere down the line. Thoughts of Jake filtered through her mind and she broke the kiss, the guilt renewed by Clarke’s new awareness of what had really happened.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asked. He was looking at her with some worry and a small amount of suspicion as if he knew where her mind had wandered to. “Abby, we don’t have to…” She kissed the rest of that sentence away. She wanted this. She had no doubt about it. Jake, like the guilt, needed to be left in the past where they belonged. “Abby…” he insisted, between two kisses, but when she tugged him down, he didn’t resist and her name soon turned into a plea on his lips. “Abby…”

His vest and shirt were the first to go, closely followed by her own jacket. His lips roamed down her jaw, accidentally finding the spot under her ear that made her moan. She could feel his smirk against her skin when he nibbled on the soft skin there, trying to get a repeat of the sound. She buried her fingers in his hair, throwing her head back when his hand found her breast.

Clothes were in the way and they almost tore them apart in their haste to get rid of them. His touch was gentle but eager, _impatient_ almost. When the last barrier of fabric was gone and he dropped a kiss between her breasts, she dug her nails in his shoulder blades, getting ready for the next step.

“Marcus…” she breathed out when he nudged her legs wider apart. He nuzzled her neck in answer, lining their bodies in a way that left her gasping in anticipation. “Marcus, I need…”

“What?” he asked, lavishing her throat with hot kisses. “Anything. _Everything_.”

“Slow.” she requested. “It’s been… Slow, I need slow.”

He lifted his head to meet her eyes and she felt stupid for even doubting he would have done anything _but_ take it slowly. He wouldn’t have risked hurting her, she understood implicitly.

“Don’t worry.” he promised. “I’ve got you, Abby.”

And she trusted him.

The rest was a blur of sensations, almost overwhelming.

She would have cried out in pleasure, forgetting about the fact that the tent wasn’t exactly soundproof and that her daughter was lying not too far away, if Marcus hadn’t muffled her scream with a kiss. He followed her over the edge quickly enough and remained slumped over her, panting. She didn’t mind. She petted his hair, trying to find her own breathing back.

“When Thelonious came back…” she said and let her sentence trail off.

He propped himself on his elbow, relieving her of his weight, and looked down at her with fondness and amusement. “For the record, you talking about another man when we just had sex doesn’t do much for my ego.”

She rolled her eyes, her lips twitching but her own amusement faded fast.

“When Thelonious came back and you didn’t… I thought you might be dead.” she insisted. “I hated it. Don’t do that to me again.”

“When Diana stole the Exodus ship... When everything blew up… I thought you were gone too.” he replied. “And I _hated_ it so maybe… Try to stay clear of power hungry ex-Chancellors, please.”

“That’s it. No more getting kidnapped by crazy people.” she decided, wrinkling her nose.

He kissed the tip of it. “Next time we get kidnapped together or not at all.”

“ _Not at all_ sounds good to me.” she grinned, craning her neck to steal a kiss. “Let’s go with _not at all_.”


	5. Say It With Flowers : A Story In Four Acts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know what this is but this is clearly not my best work. Akachankami tried to help me get it better but I’m still not sure I like it to be honest. Well… Have it and tell me.   
> It takes place in the gap between S2 and S3 and glosses over S3 with what we knew from the trailer so… I guess it will never be S3 compliant.   
> It’s fluff by the way, it will rot your teeth.

**_ Say It With Flowers : A Story In Four Acts _ **

**1 - Azalea**

The decision to go back to Mount Weather is hard to take but it is a necessary one. With Abby still recovering – and slowly going stir crazy from being stuck in bed – it’s Marcus who makes the call. He and Abby don’t really discuss it, they don’t need to. They both know the Mount Weather facility would be a better long term option than Camp Jaha, they also know bringing the extremely traumatized kids back there isn’t a good idea right now. The available resources, however, shouldn’t be wasted.

Marcus doesn’t really give anyone time to rest. He is of the opinion that the more they push the chore back, the harder it will be. Bellamy volunteers, followed tentatively by a couple of kids and Lincoln. He accepts Bellamy’s help but rejects the kids and the Grounder, choosing some of his most trusted guards instead. He leaves the camp to Miller, and Abby to the terrifying force that’s Octavia – he doesn’t trust Jackson to force her to get the rest she needs but _Octavia_ now… She even scares _him_ a little.

The eight hours hike is torture on his barely healed thigh – and there is probably a matter of pot and kettle in berating Abby for refusing to take proper care of herself when he goes trekking with a recently punctured artery – and with each new step Bellamy grows gloomier making him wonder if taking him along was a good idea after all. The crux of the matter is Bellamy has a lot of potential and the kids respect him as much as they respect Clarke. There are two communities right now at Camp Jaha, the Hundred and the Arkers, and that can’t go on for much longer. Marcus is hoping they can meet somewhere in middle ground, maybe by offering a seat on the Council but that’s something he needs to talk with Abby about.

Their mission is supposed to be about resources but they find themselves digging graves. They waste time but Marcus chooses to see this as investment. Not only is it the decent thing to do – and for Bellamy it is clearly therapeutic – it will make further trips to the Mountain easier to digest. They camp there for the night and start scavenging the next morning. There are a lot to take and food is the priority but the Mountain is _huge_ and somehow Marcus gets sidetracked by the library and the storeroom with paintings, sculptures and other masterpieces. They come straight out of history books and it feels odd to see them with his own two eyes.

He stumbles on the greenhouses by accident. There are several of them, mostly full of vegetables, but he finds one full to the brim with various flowers that have no real medicinal utility. The fact that they kept such a thing when tending to the greenhouse must have required them to wear protective suits stuns him.

The differences between Mount Weather and the Ark are glaring. The Ark’s priority always was efficiency, an utilitarian almost cruel way of life where every last piece of paper counted because their resources were limited. There was no place for beauty in space, no place for art and flowers. Mount Weather was all beauty, art and flowers. Their cruelty was hidden behind steel walls when the Ark’s had been printed in rule books for everyone to see.

Marcus wanders on the narrow paths between walls of flowers and wonders which of the two is the worst.

Plants have always been a passion of his ever since his mother made him Tender of The Tree in his childhood. He has read everything the Ark’s limited library had to offer on the subject. He knows medicinal plants and he knows of trees and flowers. He knows their language too.  

It is a secret thoroughly long guarded that he always regretted the absence of vegetation on the Ark. Maybe that’s why he was so fond of the Tree in his youth. One of the first thing he did when they touched ground was to reach out to the closest piece of greenery and rub a delicate leave between his fingers.

The colors in the greenhouse are vibrant: different shades of pink, red, yellow, blue and white. He is always surprised by how bright everything is on the ground. After a lifetime spent under harsh neon lights and trapped between dull grey walls, the change is sometimes overwhelming. The smells too assault him to the point he feels drunk on them.

“Kane.” Bellamy calls from the door, looking a little wary. “We’re ready to go.”

“I’m coming.” he says and the kid nods and leaves without another word.

He is about to follow when his eyes fall on the delicate pink patch of flowers on his right. Azaleas. _Something to give to a loved one to tell them to take care of themselves,_ the memory comes unbidden and he pockets a few flowers on a whim.

It is only later that day, when they’re back at camp and he drops by the medical tent, not entirely surprised to see Abby hopping all around the room checking on sleeping patients, that he figures out why he picked them up. He places the flowers on the bed she is supposed to be resting on and gives her a pointed look that she only answers with pursed lips and a determined gaze.

“I sent Octavia away.” she almost challenges him. “I am needed.”

“Not _right_ _now_.” he argues. “What happens when someone really needs you and you’re too exhausted to take care of them? Stay off that leg.”

She folds her arms across her chest and the pursed lips morph into a pout. “Since when do Councilmen give orders to their Chancellor, Kane?”

“Since they’re friends, _Abby._ ” he replies firmly, refusing to fall in her trap.

With a sigh, she relents, limping to her bed and sitting down. “I could say the same to you, you know. I didn’t spend _hours_ stitching you up only for you to destroy my work.” She frowns a little. “I should check you.”

“I know you love to check me out but right now you need to rest.” he jokes. It’s a stupid joke. He doesn’t even know why he makes it.

She looks down suddenly and he wonders if he is imagining the soft blush on her cheeks. She finally spots the flowers and she reaches out, caressing the delicate petals with her fingertips. She shoots him a curious glance. “Are these for me?”

“They’re Azaleas.” he shrugs, slightly embarrassed by this boyish demonstration of… He doesn’t even know what this is. “It’s a symbol of femininity and it’s also a _get well_ flower. I think.”

A soft smile plays on her lips as she brings the flowers to her nose and smells them in. “Thank you, Marcus.”

He smiles back and drops on a nearby cot because his leg _is_ bothering him and he needs to brief her on Mount Weather.

**2 – White Poppy**

Abby Griffin doesn’t wallow.

She never had, not even when her husband was floated, and it is something Marcus always admired. She is strong like few people ever are and he respects that, respects _her_ for it.

Clarke’s decision to leave without a goodbye hurts her, he can see it plainly, but instead of giving in to the despair and pain, she focuses on the camp instead. When she is not in the medical tent, she is holding sessions as a Chancellor, meeting with work stations leaders and making decisions that are not always popular. Agitation is stirring in the camp but Marcus’ focus is turned to the Grounders outward threat.

He, Abby, and Lincoln talk about reaching out to Indra.

If possible, tensions in the camp increase a notch when that becomes public knowledge. There is a man fueling their people with dissident ideas and Marcus should keep a better eye on him but he is distracted. He is distracted by the Grounders conundrum, trips to Mount Weather to salvage more supplies, training some of the kids for the guards, and, above all, he finds himself distracted by Abby.

They’ve been on the Council together for long enough that he knows her. He knows when she is planning something rash, he knows when she is not satisfied with any of the options someone submits, he knows when she’s worried or anxious, he knows when she’s about to scream out of sheer frustration, he knows that when she toys with the ring dangling from the chain around her neck it means she’s looking for strength, comfort and confidence… He knows that when she leans against the Ark’s metallic structure late at night and stares beyond the fence, clenching the ring in her fist, she is thinking about Clarke.

She is not willing to talk about her daughter.

She suggested he sent a search party early on, something he refused to do because Clarke left of her own will and clearly needs some time to herself. Deep down, Abby knows that he is right – she didn’t even argue after all – but it doesn’t help.

He finds the white poppy field during a perimeter round late one night.

He leaves them in front of her door.

The next morning, she sits next to him at breakfast and eats in silence for a few minutes. Silence isn’t a problem for them. He isn’t particularly talkative and she doesn’t feel chatting to fill the void is a necessity. Silence is comfortable, their friendship doesn’t need words, it’s forged in blood and tears not in speeches.

“White poppy is for consolation.” she simply says as he finishes his plate and stands up to go check on the patrol schedule he has tasked Bellamy with overseeing.

“Yes.” he nods.

“It doesn’t console me.” she sighs and he opens his mouth – he doesn’t know what he wants to say, maybe a _sorry_ that won’t amount to much in the grand scheme of things – when she reaches out and coils her fingers around his wrist. “You do, though. Thank you.”

Her hands slides down to his and he squeezes her fingers. “Anything you need.”

There is a contemplative look on her face and he waits for her to speak, feeling the stir of _something_ in his stomach.

In the end, she simply nods with a smile.

He doesn’t realize he is smiling too until he is standing right in front of Bellamy and the kid shoots him an amused but slightly confused look.

“Someone’s in a good mood.” he hears the boy tell his sister five minutes later.

He doesn’t need to look to know Octavia is rolling her eyes. “Lovesick puppy.” the girl declares. Marcus should probably say something but he is far enough that he can save his dignity and pretend he didn’t hear. Besides, that kid _is_ terrifying.

**3 – Camellia**

Shit hits the fan when Pike leads half the camp against the Grounders and the whole mess is only toppled by the Thelonious disaster.

Two stays in a cell, a few almost dying encounters with Grounders, a dismantled mad AI, a locked up former Chancellor, and a kiss exchanged on the brink of death later, all is back in order or as close to it as can be.

They have Clarke back which is a tremendous boost on Abby’s mood.

They still haven’t talked about the kiss which is a damper on Marcus’.

Finding Abby alone is an impossible mission those days. She is either swamped with patients, dealing with an emergency around the camp or in the room she now shares with her daughter. It’s not that she isn’t receptive. Her eyes light up when he approaches and she always smiles when she sees him and Marcus is pretty confident she isn’t avoiding him. They just have rotten luck.

He finally manages to catch her alone in the medical tent one morning and finds himself lacking words. He has spent so much time trying to talk to her he never stopped to think about what he wanted to say.

And thus they remain there, staring at each other for the longest time, an odd tension in the air.

She takes the first step but he takes the second and soon they’re reaching for each other and…

“Kane, you’re needed on the northern side of the fence.” Bellamy says, pushing the curtain and stepping inside without warning. The kid freezes when he sees them, gripping each other’s forearms, standing absolutely too close. The boy barely succeeds in keeping his hilarity under control and Marcus is _very_ sure the rumor will have reached the whole camp by tonight – _twice_ probably.

He lets go of Abby and schools his feature into detachment. “I’m coming.”

“I bet.” Bellamy grins with complete insolence.

“Bellamy.” Abby says in what Marcus has dubbed her _I’m-the-mom-and-you-better-do-as-I-say-or-there-will-be-consequences_ voice.

The boy’s grin deflates a little but not by much. “Yes, Ma’am.”

How and why Abby could make his own new guards obey better than he could, he doesn’t know but it stings a little.

He waits until Bellamy is gone to roll his eyes. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“Completely.” Abby sighs.

“Well…” he shrugs. “Duty calls.”

He’s halfway to the entrance of the tent when he feels her hand on his arm, holding him back. He turns around, a question already on his lips, but it is swallowed by her mouth. The second of surprise doesn’t last long and he is soon responding to her kiss with the same franticness she puts into it. It is just as good as he remembers, maybe even better because this time he isn’t going to his probable death. Her fingers tangle in his too long hair, angle his face in the way she wants it and he isn’t even surprised she’s bossy down to that area. He bundles the sides of her jacket in his fists and uses that to tug her closer to his body.

Their height difference isn’t something about which he has ever given too much thought but she feels so tiny against him, so _perfect_ , he wonders how well their bodies would fit together. He forgets everything from the camp, to Earth, to where they are. Nothing exists but her lips and the hand that slips out of his hair to coil around his nape and the soft noises she makes.

“I wouldn’t go in there.” Bellamy’s voice suddenly booms out, louder than strictly necessary, and they jerk apart at the sound of Clarke’s answer. He decides he will forget to be mad at Bellamy’s earlier behavior since he stuck around to guard the door.

“Later?” Abby says, half a question and half a statement.

“Later.” he nods, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

_Later_ was being optimistic. He deals with the latest crisis – squirrels that are apparently eager to toss themselves at the electrified fences and make the power blow out – and then another – Monty’s out of control moonshine distribution – and another and another until it’s time for rounds.

They exchange heated glances and secret smiles during the day but not much more and it is _ridiculous_ – as Bellamy dares pointing out once or twice only to shut up when Marcus replies that he isn’t making much more progress with Clarke. Griffin women are difficult, Bellamy concludes at the end of their patrol, nodding with all the wisdom of his twenty-something years of age.

_Difficult_ is a good way to put it.

Step by step and trip by trip, he has brought back some seeds and cuttings from the Mount Weather’s greenhouse. He now has a sort of flower garden near the camp – which makes some people laugh behind his back, he is aware of it and yet can’t begin to care, having a garden full of flowers was a childhood dream.

He intends to leave a bunch of camellias in front of her door but it opens before he can set them down. She stands there, her arms folded in front of her chest, an amused smile on her face.

“Camellias.” she says. “What does it mean?”

“Admiration.” he replies without hesitation.

She takes the flowers from him and steps back inside, leaving the door open in a clear invitation.

“Where’s Clarke?” he asks. Her daughter’s absence is glaring.

“Out. If you think she explains herself to me…” she snorts. “She stays with the other kids most nights.”

“Ah.” It’s all he can think of saying because he spent too many nights hesitating in front of her door, turning back because he was thinking about Clarke sleeping inside and all they couldn’t say in front of her daughter.

“Tell me, Marcus…” she hums, leaning against the small table in the corner. “Is there a flower that means _please take a hint already and take me before I die of old age_?”

He swallows, licks his lips and pointedly locks the door. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

The next second, his arms are full of Abby.

**4 – Red Rose**

He sneaks back in bed before she wakes up – or at least he thinks so.

“You were gone.” she accuses, turning on her side to wrap an arm around his waist. “Waking up to an empty bed after a night like that is never a pleasant feeling, Marcus.”

He smirks at the pout on her lips and her bed hair and the naked skin poking out from underneath the blankets.

“I wanted to give you something.” he argues his case, placing the rose on the pillow next to her.

It is bright red and he doesn’t need to explain what it means because it’s probably the most popular flower for this sort of things.

She barely glances at the rose, she only has eyes for him. She cups his cheek, her thumb retracing his bottom lip and gives him a soft smile.

“Me too.” she whispers.

He seals that with a kiss.

 


	6. Let's Do What Kids Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some silly fluff

The camp had grown in the two months since the events of Mount Weather and despite the constant problems she had to deal with, Abby often couldn’t help a smile as she walked around at night. Laughter filled the air, music escaped from the newly built mess hall, children were running around… It all felt like hope and it helped her not wallow in her own worries and uncertainties. It was hard to look at everything they had managed to build and not believe in a better tomorrow.

She was on her way to the mess, having half a mind to track Raven down either to share a drink or to talk some more about her leg – she wasn’t sure which yet – when she was suddenly grabbed around the waist and pulled in the small space between two of the wooden huts that had started to pop out around camp. She yelped, she couldn’t help it, but she was soon pinned to the wall, a hand on her mouth to muffle the sound. She wasn’t scared though, too used by now to the feel of Marcus’ arms around her not to recognize him.

Lips immediately attacked her neck, beard scratching her skin and she laughed in delight against his palm, nipping on it so he would take it away.

“If someone sees us…” Abby chastised him.

“Kids do it all the time.” he argued with a grin. “Making out in narrow alleys at night is the latest rage. You should hear Octavia… Apparently, it beats storage rooms.”

She shook her head at him with fondness. “We are not kids, Marcus.”

She responded to his kiss eagerly anyway, wondering how it was possible to feel so light-headed from a simple kiss at her age. Love didn’t concern itself with years, she supposed, it made a fool of everyone – even of Chancellors and Councilors.

“I missed you today.” he finally confessed in a sigh against her lips, after a last peck. He had been checking the far perimeter of the camp and she had been stuck in medical all day. “You were going to the mess? Care for some company?”

“Of course.” she grinned, stealing a last kiss while she could.

If anyone saw the Chancellor and her Councilor stepping out of the narrow space between two huts late at night, nobody ever mentioned it.  

And if they were walking too close and sharing glances and secret smiles, well… It was the norm, after all.


	7. From Chancellor To Chancellor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this episode and Marcus giving the pin to Pike, this begged to be written. I did my best, any mistakes are on me, my beta is asleep and I couldn’t wait!

The war room was often full of their silence as they worked side by side on different projects, sometimes exchanging a look or a smile from the other side of the room. That morning the silence was deafening, almost uncomfortable. The room that had become _theirs_ at some point in the last months now felt alien, violated. Perhaps because it was no longer _theirs_ anymore.

Abby’s eyes rested on the couch she had fallen asleep on more times than she had slept in her own bed ever since it had been brought from Mount Weather then travelled to the two mugs resting side by side on the desk in the corner. Her fingers brushed the round battered pin on the lapel of her jacket.

“I wanted to give this to _you_.” she whispered.

Behind her, Marcus breathed out a sigh. She kept her back to him, mostly so he wouldn’t see the sadness and disappointment on her face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“I know.” he said. “ _Vox Populi_.”

“This is not right.” she protested.

“This is democracy.” he countered easily.

They had been having the same discussion all night, arguing about allowing Pike on the ballot or not. It was a pointless argument, she knew, if people wanted Pike on the ballot, it wasn’t for them to forbid it. Arguing had helped the night go faster although it hadn’t helped ease the feeling of dread coiling in her stomach.

“And it is still not _right_.” she retorted. “Pike will destroy _everything_ we worked for. The coalition, our peace, Lincoln, _Clarke_ … He will destroy Arcadia.”

And who knew what would happen to her daughter?

She heard him walk closer and she stood her ground, still absentmindedly fiddling with the pin on her jacket. She was devising half-cooked schemes to keep it, to refuse to hand over the power… No Chancellor had ever done that in the past but she could be the first, couldn’t she? Hands came to rest on her shoulders, powerful hands that squeezed once to let her know he was standing there, right behind her. As should be. “Charles isn’t a bad man, Abby.”

“The pin should be yours. It was _supposed_ to be _yours_.” she breathed out. “What are we going to _do_?”

“What we’ve always done…” Marcus offered. “What is best for our people. Whatever form that takes. _Together_.”

“Together.” she repeated. It sounded like a promise. She was wary of promises but she trusted his, always. She turned around to face him and his hands slowly fell from her shoulders, lingering like they often tended to do. She searched his eyes, expecting to find calm and reassurance in them but she was unnerved by the small glint of worry she could glimpse. “You don’t believe in what you’re saying. You don’t believe this won’t mean the destruction of all we worked for.”

The accusation didn’t make him flinch but he lowered his eyes, staring at the pin.

“I don’t know. I… I _don’t_ know.” he confessed. “I _do_ believe _you and I_ will always put our people first. And I also believe we will do it _together_.”

“That’s how we work best.” she admitted with a small smile. “We need balance.”

“Yes.” he nodded.

“Who will be Pike’s balance?” she asked.

She thought he would answer that _they_ would have to tame him but she knew it would never work out that way. Marcus might have been Pike’s friend once upon a time but that held little weight down there on Earth, not with the stakes being so high. And Abby… _Abby_ meant nothing to him. Marcus and Abby worked well together because they were so different and yet so important to each other. She couldn’t have done anything without him and he wouldn’t have done anything without her – nothing worthwhile at least. They _needed_ each other.

“I don’t know.” he said again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I almost miss Thelonious…”

_One mad Chancellor at a time_ , she thought.

“We can’t let this happen, Marcus.” she insisted.

“Abby, it’s already _done_.” he snapped. “And you need to get that pin to him now.” He brushed his fingertips against the round metal… She instinctively reached for him and their hands fell between them, fingers entwined. She didn’t really know _that_ happened. His face softened. “You have to do it. From Chancellor to Chancellor.”

That was the tradition, a way to transfer the power, to prove the old Chancellor recognized the authority of their successor…

She unpinned the round piece of metal with her free hand before guiding Marcus’ hand up. She placed the pin in his palm.

“Abby…” he protested.

She forced his fingers to close around the pin and kept his fist trapped between her hands so he wouldn’t try to give it back.

“The good of our people comes first, before _anything_. From Chancellor to Chancellor.” she whispered urgently. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

He nudged her chin up with his free hand, tilting his head to the side. “I _can’t_ understand what you’re saying because it’s _treason_ , you’re _not_ Chancellor anymore and I’m _still_ Commander.”

She brought the hand she was still holding to her lips and pressed a light kiss on his knuckles. It was a bold move. She felt high on adrenaline and too little sleep. She felt the urgency twisting her stomach, the _impending doom_ at their doorstep…

“Give it to Pike for me.” she ordered. “My last command as Chancellor.”

“Do I have to kiss him when I do?” he joked.

It was a poor attempt at lightening the mood but she found a small smile making its way to her lips all the same. “Don’t make me jealous.”

“Would you?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows in that inquisitive way of his. “Be jealous if I kissed other people, I mean.”

There would be a time to answer this question seriously, she thought, but _not_ _now_. Not when the situation was so desperate.

“Your Chancellor awaits in a cell.” she reminded him. She had become good at deflecting.

His eyes softened and he brought their still linked hands to his own mouth. His beard scrapped the delicate skin of her knuckles and his lips lingered longer than hers had done but she wasn’t complaining. Her breath caught in her throat and she imagined how it would _feel_ to have his lips roaming on other parts of her.

“My Chancellor is here.” he murmured, almost too low for her to hear before taking a reluctant step back, the pin safely enclosed in his hand.

He paused on the threshold and gave a last glance at the war room. “I will miss this place.”

“You are still Commander.” she shrugged. “You will be back.”

She, on the other hand, needed to gather her stuff. Doctors were rarely allowed in the war room… She would probably be limited to the Council room from now on.

“How long will I stay Commander do you think?” he snorted. “And it won’t be the same anyway. You know what I mean.”

“I do.” she confirmed.

He gave her a sad nod and left. There was something strangely definitive in watching him go despite the fact that she was sure she would see him in a little while for lunch. She gathered her things quickly, having no wish to bump into Pike.

She paused on the threshold too and looked back to frame the room in her memory.

It was funny how you never realized what you had until you lost it.

She had been happy in that room.


	8. Of Uniforms & Titles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so… It’s a missing scene for 3X05 because they looked so married seriously…

Abby couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Marcus out of uniform. It had become part of him at some point, a key aspect of his personality. She knew how much that vest meant to him, how much _that position_ meant to him. He had worked hard to reach the top of the chain of command. He had given up _a lot_.

So once Jaha left and they were left alone in the deserted infirmary, she frowned and reached out, resting her hand on his arm. The cotton of his grey shirt was frayed but soft so _at_ _odds_ with the harsh and rough feel of his uniform. She briefly wondered if that was a testimony of how much he had changed.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

His first instinct was to lie, she saw it clearly at his shifting gaze and the way he licked his lips, then he seemed to think better of it and simply shrugged. “There are worse things going on than me getting fired.”

“It doesn’t mean you are not allowed to… be _upset_ about it.” she countered.

He looked at her, his face softening a little. “I’m upset about what happened to the Grounders. I’m upset about what’s happening _right_ _now_. The job… The job doesn’t matter so much anymore.”

“You _love_ that job.” she argued, her voice cracking a little.

Too much was happening at once and she wasn’t sure it would end well – or _rather_ she was certain it wouldn’t. Retribution would come. _Blood must have blood_. And maybe a part of her, a selfish part, was glad Marcus wouldn’t be with the guards when that happened, but the biggest part knew she would have been desperate if someone had prevented _her_ to do _her_ job. Being a doctor was as much a vocation for her as leading the guards, keeping the peace and defending their people, was for him.

“It’s just a title, Abby.” he insisted, covering the hand that was still on his arm with his own. “I used to define myself only by that title. Now I have other things to define me by. I’m fine.” He gave her a small smile. “Besides… I’m not sure I agree with what I swore to protect anymore. Arkadia wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

She drew out a long exhausted breath, perfectly understanding what he meant. People had _voted_ for Pike. They had _asked_ for this.

And she didn’t know how to feel about that either.

“We’ll figure it out.” she promised. “Together.”

“Together.” he echoed.

 


	9. Late Night Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another « missing scene » to the last episode. Sort of. Well. My shipper heart is beating, what can you do? Thanks to Cami for beta services!

He wasn’t exactly expecting the knocks on the door but they were a nice distraction from his relentless staring at the ceiling. There was nothing else for him to do now but lie on his bed and stare at the grey surfaces, no distraction to be found in checking patrol schedules or lingering in the war room hoping Abby would show up and they could talk late into the night.

Being fired from the guards was a blow. He felt a pent-up energy he couldn’t quite… _spend_. So he bolted out of bed, not bothering to slip anything more appropriate than the threadbare sweatpants and frayed tee-shirt he usually wore to sleep on, almost hoping it would be someone telling him Pike had changed his mind or that his expertise was required somewhere for the little unofficial rebellion that was slowly growing within Arkadia.

However when he opened the door, he realized he had always known it would be Abby.

She was ready for bed too, he couldn’t help but notice, and he wondered if she had been suffering from the same insomnia he was. She was wearing loose grey shorts that almost reached her knees and a blue flannel shirt that was too big for her, her hair was passed over her shoulder in a loose braid, she was barefoot, and her gaze was inquisitive. There was nothing remotely _sexy_ in her outfit and yet it was the word that came into his mind, he couldn’t help but… _stare_.

“I come bearing gifts.” she joked, lifting two glasses and a bottle of moonshine.

He stepped aside to let her in and closed the door behind her, not without popping his head in the corridor to check if it was empty. He didn’t know why, it was a reflex, as if anyone had any say over who he received in the middle of the night.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, watching her tour the small room, making the space… _hers_. She hadn’t been there often. Once or twice. He had been to her room more often when he needed the Chancellor as a matter of emergency, but they tended to keep their late reunion – or any reunion for that matter – to the war room, not because it was impersonal but because it was _theirs_ – not _hers_ or _his_ but _theirs_.

“No.” she hummed. “I can’t stop _thinking_. And I’m forbidden from visiting my patients so…”

There was bitterness and anger in her voice. He knew without having to ask that she had tried to defy Pike’s orders and to push her way to the Grounders’ cell – that was Abby in a nutshell. He also knew any pleas on his part to _be careful_ would have gone unheard.

“Have you tried listening to one of Thelonious’ preaching session?” he snorted. “Almost put _me_ to sleep.” 

She flashed him a smile but it was more worried than amused. “We should help him but I don’t know how. He is so much troubled… The hallucinations, his behavior… It is possible the hypoxia had lasting consequences on his brain.”

He shrugged. “He doesn’t seem unhappy. His City of Light… It gives him comfort. Leave him be for now.”

She hummed her agreement and eventually stopped roaming the room to take a seat on his unmade bed. There was a table with two perfectly good chairs less than a feet from her but she chose the bed and Marcus didn’t know what it meant. He watched her pour them two glasses before placing the bottle down on the floor.

He took the glass she handed him but he didn’t sip from it as eagerly as she did with hers.

“Is it thinking about Jaha that’s keeping you up?” he asked.

The smile that stretched her lips was teasing this time and the way she leaned back on her free hand a little was nothing but _inviting_.

“Not _Jaha_ , no…” she replied in a tone that was clearly meant to be seductive and that shot to his groin like nothing else could ever have. He wondered what his name would sound like whispered in that tone and he took a hurried sip of moonshine because the room suddenly felt _too_ _warm_.

He cleared his throat, forced himself to remain calm and in control. “How many glasses did you have before coming here?”  

“A couple.” she admitted, straightening a little. Her voice became strong and confident again, no more seductive but _authoritative_. “I’m not drunk, Marcus. Like I said… I couldn’t stop thinking.”

He dragged a chair from the table, turned it around and straddled it, using the back to prop his elbows. She watched him with obvious amusement – because he didn’t dare sit next to her on the bed or because it was a cheap attempt at hiding the growing bulge in his pants from view, that was anyone’s guess – but it soon faded and she took another sip of her liquor.

“What about?” he prompted although he had a good idea.

“About the army of Grounders that will probably swoop on us soon and kill us all to the last?” she offered, sounding a little lost. “We killed their wounded, they won’t take any prisoner.”

“Clarke is working on that.” he reminded her.

“Lexa doesn’t always listen to Clarke.” she argued. “And you told me yourself Lexa couldn’t afford to look less than strong to keep her leadership. Blood must have blood, that’s their way. Tell me you don’t think there is a chance they will march on us and destroy Arkadia.”

“We have guns.” he said slowly. “And they don’t. It will make them hesitate.”

“How long?” she retorted. “How long until we are all _dead_?”

“Abby…” he frowned. “Have faith in your daughter.”

“Maybe she had a point.” she whispered, downing the rest of her glass.

He leaned in and grabbed her wrist before she could get a grip on the bottle. She was scared and getting drunk wouldn’t help her dealing with that – or maybe it would but it was a dangerous path to take. He slowly joined her on the bed, placing his own glass down but not letting go of her arm.

“Yes, maybe she did.” he agreed. “Maybe you should have left with her. _I_ should have told you to leave with her…”

He couldn’t deny the risk of the Grounders’ army attacking Arkadia was high and he couldn’t deny she would probably have been safer with Clarke and Octavia – and, at least, _those two_ were out and safe, he would be grateful for small mercies.

“Don’t be stupid.” she scoffed. “I couldn’t. My place is here.”

“I don’t really care where your place is.” he confessed. “I just care that you’re safe.”

“I’m safe with you.” she offered so quickly and so quietly he knew she meant it. “And to be honest, there is nowhere else I would rather be. We said we would do this together.”

“That was before…” he sighed, letting go of her arm to brush her braid from where it was hanging loose at her back over her shoulder. He liked her hair like that.

“There is really no point in doing this together if you expect me to run away and hide every time it gets difficult.” she stated. “We work through the problems together. That’s how it works.”

“We’re not Chancellors anymore.” he reminded her, using the plural without even realizing it. It was what it had been anyway. A partnership. She had been the one to wear the pin but they had been taking the decisions together.

“I’m not talking about that.” she countered, searching his eyes.

“Ah.” was all he found to say.

She shifted awkwardly on the bed and her eyes suddenly darted away from his, she licked her lips and then cleared her throat, a slow flush making its way from her neck to her cheeks. “Maybe I _had_ too much to drink. I don’t know what I’m saying… I should…”

Maybe answering _ah_ to a woman hinting that she wanted more than a professional relationship wasn’t the smoothest move, he realized. Yet again, Marcus had never been particularly… _smooth_.

“You came here with a plan, didn’t you?” he asked, and he winced at himself because it wasn’t any smoother.

She stopped trying to flee but her shoulders slouched a little and she kept her eyes on her bare feet. “A Grounder army could come down on us any second and kill us all. It seems stupid to… let things go to waste or wait for a perfect time that will never come. So I thought… I thought I would see if… You felt the same way.” She rolled her eyes and looked at him with a small amused smile on her face. “Why do I feel like a kid again? This used to be _easy_.”

“For you maybe.” he snorted.

“Well, let me get a piece of paper, I will ask if you like me and you can check the proper box.” she chuckled. “It will be less ridiculous than this.”

“You know I don’t _just_ like you.” he retorted. “Aim higher.”

Her mouth twitched and she leaned in. He met her halfway as was now the norm in their relationship, their lips brushed together, creating a friction that seemed to resonate in his whole body. He was almost _aggressive_ when he crashed his mouth against hers but it was alright because _she_ was _demanding_ and soon the kiss turned hungry and messy. They ended up lying on the bed with her on her back and him half over her and he wasn’t sure how. He registered the sound of glass when she accidentally knocked the bottle with her foot but he didn’t care because his hands were under her shirt.

Every time he had let himself picturing them having sex, it had been slow and sweet. He was stupid. Nothing between them could have been slow and sweet – not the first time at least. It was explosive and _so good_ his muscles were screaming in agony by the time they ended up panting, snuggled close together.

He ran his fingers through her hair, finishing to untangle the braid that had come loose at some point. Her own fingers were drawing silly patterns on his chest – or retracing scars, he wasn’t sure.

“I could get used to this.” he confessed. He was sleepy now, a natural consequence of what they had just done, but his brain still refused to _shut_ _up_.

“Let’s hope the Grounders don’t choose to attack _now_.” she joked, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. “Awkward.”

“Yeah.” he chuckled, briefly imagining the look Indra would have given them. Or _Lexa_ for that matter. And where Lexa was, Clarke was never too far behind so… It was probably best to rail his mind in because he _never_ wanted to deal with her daughter busting them in bed. “You should try to sleep now. Who knows what new impending disaster our dear Chancellor will invent tomorrow…” Or their old one for that matter. He was all for leaving Jaha alone as long as he wasn’t a problem but there was something… odd going on with his friend.

“I’ll have nightmares.” she sighed, shifting a little so she could find a comfortable position to sleep against him. That was new – _good_ but _new_ – and it required… adjusting. When was the last time she had shared her bed with someone? When Jake was still alive? When had _he_? He couldn’t remember. Callie, probably. So long ago it felt like another lifetime.

“No, you won’t.” he promised even though he had no real control over that.

“I don’t know…” she teased, in an obvious attempt at lightening the mood. “Have you seen Clarke’s hair? _That_ ’s enough to give me nightmares.”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

He hoped there would be many nights like this one to come.

He hoped Pike wouldn’t destroy everything.

He hoped Arkadia would endure.


	10. Gnossiennen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Gnossiennen: a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you, because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand. FOR ABBY AND CLARKE? *-*
> 
>  
> 
> I did my best, not sure that cut it ;) And hey look it’s Clarke plus Kabby :p Thanks to Cami for the beta even if her prompt was DIFFICULT.

There’s something familiarly unfamiliar at being back at camp. After everything that happened, Pike, the coalition and crazy AI… Clarke finds it difficult to go back to that life, a life made of rituals like breakfast at the same time, in the same place with the same people every day. She finds it difficult to fall into the routine of having an actual job with regular hours, helping around medical, often trailing after Jackson just so she can avoid her mother. She finds it difficult to find her space in her mother’s quarters even though they had shared for seventeen years before and even though she is mostly alone in there because her mother has a tendency to fall asleep in the war room discussing politics with newly elected Chancellor Kane.

She finds it _difficult_ to deal with Jasper or Bellamy or Octavia. She loves them all but love never makes anything easier. Bellamy understands that, she thinks, because it is all over those myths he likes to read late at night, in front of the fire. He seems content for their relationship – that is not a friendship but not romantic either, they are just… _more_ – to remain in a limbo of undefined. And thus her eyes often turn to Arkadia’s gates, in the vague direction of Polis, counting the days until Wanheda would be needed for a summit or other and when she could make her escape without looking like she’s fleeing. She wonders how Lexa is doing and then she stops because that is even more confusing than Bellamy, his mythology and the guilt he carries on his shoulders, so similar to hers.

Most of all though, she finds it difficult to deal with everything she has left behind when she ran after Mount Weather. It wasn’t just the dead she was running from, it was everything else. She loves her mother. Her mother is strong even though Clarke tends to think it is this strength of character that makes her weak. Her mother would never have pulled that level at Mount Weather, she would never have unleashed the fire that killed the Grounders so long before that, she would never have left TonDC to be bombed so they could have a tactical advantage… All those decisions are things Clarke carries with her, that devour her from within, but they are not decisions she _regrets_. Her mother would never have been able to do any of that and live with it.

And yet she killed her father.

Clarke forgave but she did not forget. It is everywhere in the room they share: the shape of his absence, his ghost, is a daily reminder. It is everywhere from the ring dangling on the chain around her mother’s neck – now a forgotten memento that she seems to keep there by sheer habit only – to the quirk of her mouth when Clarke says something that reminds her of him.

And yet her mother laughs and smiles and lives, seemingly unburdened by guilt.

Clarke wants to ask sometimes. How she managed to make peace with her actions. If she still loves Jake Griffin who was everything to them both once upon a time. How could she even _take_ the decision to float her own husband. If she loved him at all or if her love was already starting to fade and if it was why it had been so easy to throw him to Jaha.

She should be angry with Kane too, she figures, but Kane was mostly following Jaha’s orders and while Kane had been the one to pull the lever, like she had at Mount Weather, Kane hadn’t taken the decision.

The decision was Abby’s.

And it is in those tiny moments of awareness that she realizes she doesn’t understand her mother, doesn’t _know_ her.

The words Abby said in the woods after TonDC still ring in her ear sometimes and they make Clarke wonder what is the difference between the people of TonDC and her father? The number of lives? Doesn’t love count at all? She killed Finn to protect him, Abby killed Jake to protect the Ark but Abby wouldn’t have killed the Mountain men to protect their people.

Clarke doesn’t understand her logic.

She doesn’t understand what is going on in her mother’s head.

She knows _the_ _mother_. She knows the mother who kisses her brow as a goodnight, who brushes her hair and braids it with love, who soothes illness with a magic hand on a cheek, who hums lullabies and chases nightmares… She knows the mother who scolds and lectures, hugs and cuddles and whispers _I love you_ like a secret in her ear…

But _Abby_?

She doesn’t know _Abby_. She doesn’t know the woman who barks orders in medical or in a war room, her back straight and her chin high, but cries sometimes when she thinks her daughter can’t hear. She doesn’t know the secrets, the lost dreams and the stillborn hopes. She doesn’t know the woman who glares and shouts with venom in her voice only to soften when Kane places a hand on her arm or her shoulder. She doesn’t know the woman who smiles this secret smile when their Chancellor walks into a room, she doesn’t know the woman who leans against his side when they think nobody is looking, she doesn’t know _the woman_.

“You’re okay there, Clarke?” Kane frowns and she realizes she has been staring at her mother from the other side of the mess hall, her metallic cup frozen halfway to her lips. Her mother is laughing with Raven over their breakfast, her hair pulled up in a loose ponytail that keeps bouncing one way and the other… She catches sight of their Chancellor and her smile morphs into something else, more private, more… _intimate_ and Clarke remains ignored as her mother loses herself into a world of her own. Raven keeps talking but Clarke is sure Abby is not listening to a word she says. Kane follows her eyes and his face… softens, a small smile stretches his lips.

And it’s Clarke’s turn to frown.

“How long has this been going on?” she asks.

Kane, to his credit, doesn’t pretend not to understand. He sits down at her table with a wince, his back turned to where Abby is sitting. “Look, it’s really not my place to…”

“Seems like you _made_ _it_ your place.” she snaps before she can help herself. She knows it’s unfair, that her father has been dead for a long time now, but she is their child and in her mind her father should remain her mother’s greatest love. It brings her back to her initial question. Did she love Jake at all that she can so easily move on with the man who betrayed him? Except it wasn’t Kane, was it, who did the betrayal… And she still doesn’t understand how her mother could do that. _Abby_ maybe but not _her mother_ and the dichotomy is driving her _mad_ , it makes her want to run for Polis where everything is if not simpler at least less complicated.

“Clarke…” Kane tries but she is not ready to listen.

“She’s not sleeping in our room.” she accuses. “She says she’s been in the war room every time but…”

“She didn’t lie to you, she was in the war room.” he tempers, lifting a hand in a gesture of peace.

She narrows her eyes at him. “With you.”

“With me, yes.” he sighs.

She doesn’t _need_ to ask if it was about leadership matters because now that she is seeing everything with another perspective, it’s _glaring_. The way her mother looks at him, the way she smiles when he is near, the way she hums cheerful little tunes sometimes… She remembers from a time long gone, her early teens maybe, that it’s what her mother does when she is happy. And she remembers that during the last few years of her parents’ marriage, her mother used to look more tired and worried than happy. She doesn’t want to linger on that, so she doesn’t.

“Don’t hurt her.” she pleads and suddenly Wanheda is gone, the Commander of Death is no more, and there is only little Clarke Griffin left. Because she doesn’t know the woman but he doesn’t know the mother and yet they both love her.

“Never.” he promises with enough strength that she believes him. She trusts Kane because Kane is a straight guy who never lies and who always keeps his word.

She nods at him and stands up. He nods back and stands up too.

He joins Abby and she leaves the mess hall, unwilling to face her mother this morning.

She might accept there are parts of Abby that are locked to her with time…

But it doesn’t mean she is ready to face the parts she already knows.


	11. Nighthawkn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Nighthawkn: a recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night—an overdue task, a nagging guilt, a looming and shapeless future—that circles high overhead during the day, that pecks at the back of your mind while you try to sleep, that you can successfully ignore for weeks, only to feel its presence hovering outside the window, waiting for you to finish your coffee, passing the time by quietly building a nest. KABBY PROMPT!

There are thoughts that only come back at four a.m. when your eyes are burning from lack of sleep, your tea is cold in your mug and the problem in front of you doesn’t seem to have any solution. Four a.m. often finds Marcus in the war room these days, a sharpie in his hand, staring at the ever growing map of their surroundings.

Since Mount Weather he has been living on too few naps, adrenaline, and the certainty that nightmares are waiting for him between the cold sheets of his bed. He likes the war room better than his quarters. He likes the quiet, the couch he shamefully claimed once it was brought back from the mountain by calling Chancellor priority pick in Abby’s name, the cluttered desk in the corner and the tactical table in the middle of the room… Above all, he thinks he likes the company.

Abby doesn’t seem to like her quarters either because she spends most of her time in this room when she isn’t in medical. They share the space, warp it into something that is _theirs_ where they can cohabitate and find some semblance of safety.

Four a.m. often finds her fast asleep on the couch, her tablet or file forgotten on her lap, her own mug of tea long cold at her feet.

Four a.m. often finds his attention wandering from the map or the current problem he is studying to her. He watches the way her chest lifts and falls slowly as she sleeps, the way her fingers sometimes curl when she dreams… He watches the way her hair frames her face and how relaxed she is in her slumber. He watches the hem of the bra he can guess at when she slumps sideway and her shirt inches down. He watches her and he thinks he wants her. He watches her and he thinks he loves her.

There are thoughts that only come back at four a.m. when your eyes are burning from lack of sleep, your tea is cold in your mug and the problem in front of you doesn’t seem to have any solution.

That’s his four a.m. thought, a thought he doesn’t let himself entertain during the rest of the day, a thought that doesn’t bother him during the rest of the day because there is too much to do.

He wants Abby Griffin.

He loves Abby Griffin.


	12. AUs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a few AU prompts on tumblr a couple of weeks ago and I never got around to publish them. There were three other requests but I have no muse for them for now. I'll save them for later ;)

**34)** **meeting at a masquerade ball au**

“Masquerades are supposed to be fun, you realize.”

Marcus didn’t startle – because he would be signing for the guards in a few months and guards _didn’t_ startle – but he looked at the girl with something akin to alarm. The paper mask on her face hid much from view but not enough for him not to see she was _pretty_. Her hair was loose on her shoulders, shiny and glossy, even though he couldn’t quite tell if it was brown or dark blond in the flickering lights of the party.

Parties were a rare thing on the Ark and they should be fully appreciated, he knew that.

“Who says I’m not having fun?” he frowned behind his own hastily made mask.

“Oh, so that’s your idea of fun…” the girl teased. “Lurking in the corner and watching… Are you tracking someone specific or…”

“I keep track of everybody.” he snorted, relaxing a little. “That will be my job soon. I’m going to be a guard.”

“That’s nice.” the girl smiled. “I will start in medical in a year. I want to be a doctor.”

“That’s… actually more impressive than the guards.” he admitted, a little sorry he wasn’t going to sweep her off her feet with his bravery. Everybody knew doctors were in short supplies and it was one of the hardest training courses.

“Does the future guard want to dance?” she grinned.

“I’m not great at dancing.” he winced.

“Hence the lurking in the corner?” she guessed.

“Maybe.” he confessed sheepishly.

“I’ll teach you.” she decided, grabbing his hand and pulling him on the dance floor without leaving him a choice. He was taller, heavier and bulkier. He could have resisted. But he found himself powerless under her hand. “My name’s Abby, by the way. Abby Griffin.”

“Marcus.” he answered. “Marcus Kane.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus Kane.” she laughed.

He found himself laughing too.

He wondered if that was how a real breath of fresh felt like down on Earth.

* * *

 

**37)** **meeting in prison au**

“That’s starting to become a habit.” Marcus smirked as he bounced down the few steps that led to the main part of the precinct. “What did you do today, Doctor Griffin?”

His eyes darted from the cuffs Captain Jaha had just taken off her wrists to the annoyed looking Officer Byrne, standing there, clearly seething in frustration. He could sympathize. He had lost count of the number of times the woman had gotten arrested at a protestation march or another only to be freed without charges once people had realized _who_ she was: a high profile doctor, very active in the local community, very popular and appreciated, and who had operated _pro-bono_ on at least a hundred of poor kids who couldn’t afford insurance. Everyone in town loved Abigail Griffin and throwing her in jail would cause a riot. Plus, arresting her would be bad publicity and it wasn’t something anyone in the precinct was willing to risk.

Did the double standards annoyed Marcus? Yes, it did. Did he mind? Not really given that her heart was always in the right place and she had never actually hurt anyone. He used to think a lot in terms of black and white before he had met her. Now… Now he saw more in shades of grey.

“Detective Kane.” Abby greeted him with a small nod. “There seems to have been a small misunderstanding.”

“When is there not with you?” he teased.

“There was no misunderstanding, Ma’am. You were going at a hundred miles over the speed limit.” Byrne cut in.

“Because of an _emergency_.” Abby retorted. “As I _tried_ to explain to you. And because of _you_ my patient’s life was made at risk.”

“You missed a surgery?” Marcus frowned.

“It’s alright.” she sighed. “I called the hospital and Jackson handled it but it could have been much worse.”

“You should have asked for me.” he chided her.

“I did!” she snapped. “ _Sixty times_. But Officer Grumpy wouldn’t call you. If Captain Jaha hadn’t walked past…”

Jaha had been standing right there in silence during the whole exchange, half-frowning.

“I didn’t realize you knew Doctor Griffin, Marcus.” the Captain cut in.

“Well, she seems to like getting handcuffed.” he joked and only realized how it sounded because of the deep embarrassing resulting silence. Abby was glaring daggers at him. “I mean, she gets arrested a lot, sir, not that… She doesn’t… We don’t…”

“I have no affinity with handcuffs.” Abby interrupted his awkward babbling. “Am I _finally_ free to go? I have a patient I need to check on.”

“Of course.” Captain Jaha offered at once. “We are _very sorry_ for the misunderstanding. Aren’t we, officer Byrne?”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am.” the policewoman gritted through her teeth.

Byrne looked anything but sorry and Marcus discreetly nodded at her to go.

“Do you have your car? Can I borrow it?” Abby asked. “Mine is parked somewhere at the other end of town.”

“I will have Officer Byrne bring it back to your house.” Jaha offered while Marcus wordlessly fished his keys from the back pocket of his pants and handed them to her.

Abby barely took the time to nod at the Captain, already hurrying toward the exit only to stop and turn around at the last moment. “Can you pick up the kids tonight? I know it’s supposed to be me but now I need to review Jackson’s work…”

“You’ve got my car.” he pointed out. “How do you want me to pick them up?”

She flashed him one of those smiles that made it hard for him to breathe properly. “Improvise!”

She was gone before he could tell her that she was _impossible_ and he watched her disappear through the door, feeling his lips stretching into a smile. The Captain clearing his throat brought him back to Earth _really_ fast.

“I wasn’t aware you were involved with someone, Marcus.” Jaha said. “Good for you. Doctor Griffin is… _quite_ the woman.”

“We’re not involved, sir.” he winced. “Her daughter is a friend of Octavia’s, they’re in the same class. We carpool.”

“ _Carpool_.” Thelonious repeated with an amused smile. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”


	13. Jumbled Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I love all your fanfics and you are probably my favourite writer at the moment! I was wondering if (from the late episodes) you’d be will to attempt a kabby fic for me? After Abby has taken the pill and Marcus has to get to help her get the AI out?
> 
>  
> 
> You requested Kabby and I delivered but I’m afraid it sucks a lot haha! I chose to place this in a hypothetical post-season where everything is settled.   
> I have another piece featuring Marcus and O for tomorrow that probably sucks too. Well… I did my best! Enjoy!

Everything was jumbled.

_Jake…_

_The Ark…_

_Clarke…_

_Marcus…_

_Being Chancellor…_

Everything was jumbled, her mind in shatters. The only clear part was her childhood and, even then, she was certain some pieces were either missing or out of order.

The memories were there, she knew they were, but they were like tendrils of mist… Reach for them and they were gone.

The chip had been gone for days now. Pike was dead, Jaha gone, the Grounders under her daughter’s control, the camp back in order… The chip had been gone for days and everyone else who had been to the City of Light was recovering quickly and easily. Abby wasn’t. Abby hadn’t taken the chip willingly in the first place, consent had to be overridden – it was different for her and she was still struggling to remember things.

She was struggling to remember she was on the ground because the ground was forever linked to pain, dead friends and betrayal. She was struggling to remember Pike was dead because Pike had brought nothing but death and horror in Arkadia and her life. She was struggling to remember the Grounders were under Clarke’s control because she was always worried about Clarke, always felt guilty about what she had done to Jake, always too aware of the spark of resentment in her daughter’s eyes when she thought she wasn’t looking. She was struggling to remember the camp was back in order because she often forgot _the man_ who was now running Arkadia.

“Abby?”

She looked up from the data she had been reading and blinked at the man standing in the war room’s doorway. He was a stranger. For a fleeting terrifying moment, he was a stranger.

“Marcus.” she greeted.

It was hesitant, almost a question.

His lips stretched into a warm smile and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “It only took you ten seconds today. We’re getting there.”

She smiled too, if only to reassure him.

Everyone was worried about her. Clarke radioed from Polis, Raven hovered around because she felt guilty, Jackson kept saying he was sorry, other people crowded her with good wishes…

She liked being with Marcus.

Marcus never pressured her, he didn’t ask her again and again if she felt alright, if her head was better, if she was angry or sad or confused… He treated her like she was still the same and for that she was grateful.

The memories weren’t _gone_. They were simply _jumbled_.

She watched as he went around the room in a well-rehearsed dance: he picked up a mug to get himself some tea from the kettle in the corner, grabbed a handful of reports and a notepad, snatched a pen from the desk and at last sat down on the other end of the couch. Close enough that she could feel his body heat, not close enough that they were touching.

They had taken away Pike’s things and re-colonized the war room with their stuff. She was fairly certain they had. Sometimes after Marcus had come back. Marcus who was sitting next to her, feeling both like a stranger and her closest friend in the world.

She dropped the tablet on her lap, forgetting the data to study him instead. There was a crease on his brow as he read the first report, taking a sip of tea from time to time. He was sporting a beard but she thought it had been trimmed. It had been wild before. She remembered it had hitched when he…

“We kissed.”

He looked up at her, calm and composed. _Patient._ “Yes.”

How long had he been waiting for her to remember this little piece of trivia?

She looked deeper, forced herself through the automatic fear of pain when she dug in her jumbled memories, grabbed the misty tendrils with both hands and _willed_ them not to fail her this time, not to disappear. She willed herself to remember what she wanted to remember.

“I love you.”

It was a shot in the dark but the second the words were out of her mouth, she knew she meant them.

_Salvation comes at a price._

_I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again._

_I had those fears myself._

_I am not leaving you here._

_No matter who wears the pin we’re in this together._

_I can’t do this again._

_Please don’t make this harder than it already is._

_May we meet again._

_We will._

“I hope so.” Marcus chuckled, his face soft. “But I don’t know for sure so I can’t confirm that for you.”

“I do.” she frowned, reaching out to retrace his features with her fingers. She hated that he still felt like a stranger. She hated this dichotomy in her. She didn’t know who he was yet she knew only him. The paradox would probably kill her before long. “God, Marcus… _I do_.”

Laughter bubbled in her chest and she didn’t make any attempt at keeping it in. She didn’t remember the last time she had laughed – before the whole thing with Jaha and Pike started probably. She laughed until she was breathless, only spurred on by the way he was watching her, half-amused and half-worried. She shifted to sit sideways on the couch, her knees on his thigh, framing his face in her hands and tugging him closer until their foreheads rested against each other.

It was the first time since the chip was removed something was _so clear_.

Maybe if she could have seen Clarke… But Clarke had hurried back to Polis without stopping in Arkadia first.

“I do.” she said again.

“I miss you.” he whispered, his breath rolling on her lips and she was tempted, for a second, to close the gap and be done with it. She didn’t. She feared they would get carried away. She feared she would wake tomorrow morning in his bed, look at him and panic because she didn’t know who he was and she knew it would hurt him.

He missed her present tense, she couldn’t help but notice, because she wasn’t completely there yet.

“I will find my way back to you.” she promised.

“I know.” he smiled, tentatively brushing his fingers through her hair. “Abby Griffin is too stubborn to give up. That’s why I love you.”

She smiled back, more determined than ever to fight this.

 

 

 

 


	14. Love Is Weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to do something about the last episode haha! I’m sorry but I had to! So you get daddy!kane and some kabby and some linctavia and angst. And the whole thing is probably terrible but… I had to.

Regrets were heavy things.

Marcus pondered that thought as he sat on a boulder near the entrance to the small cave they had set camp in. The night was alive with the chirping of birds and the distant noises of animals on the hunt but he was pricking his ears for different sounds. Although… If experience was proof, chances were he wouldn’t be able to hear Grounders creeping around until they would be close enough to slit his throat.

“Don’t.” he said.

Octavia was silent as a cat but he was hyper aware of his surroundings and particularly of what was going on behind his back. The girl froze, probably hesitating between approaching and ignoring him altogether. She had done a lot of that on the way to the cave.

“Jus drein jus daun.” she spat with enough anger and resentment that Marcus briefly closed his eyes.

“That is not our way.” he opposed calmly.

“It was our way when you were ready to kidnap Pike and deliver him to the Grounders.” she retorted. “What happened to that plan, Kane?”

“It went south.” he replied, still calm. “Getting to Pike was near impossible then, it will be even worse now. We need to wait for Indra to come back.”

“ _If_ she comes back, she won’t have a miraculous solution.” Octavia growled. “Lincoln’s murderer walks free.”

“And what are you planning to do?” he asked, finally turning around to face her. She looked terrible. Bruised and battered, her eyes puffy from crying… “Sneak in and kill him?”

“Yes.” she answered, jutting her chin up in the air. “ _Revenge_.”

“Security will be up. You won’t get to him.” he countered. “You’ll get caught.”

“Then I’ll get caught doing _something_ , not sitting here on my ass watching the stars like a lovesick schoolboy.” she taunted. “You disgust me. You’re _weak_. You should have grabbed her and _run_. You should have sedated _her_.”

“And leave you there to die?” he sighed, his voice hardening a little. “Lincoln didn’t want that Octavia. You know, he didn’t.”

“It wasn’t his choice. It wasn’t _your_ choice.” she snapped.

“Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim.” he reminded her.

_Get knocked down, get back up_. One of the first sentences Indra had taught him.

“ _Fuck you,_ Kane.” she laughed bitterly. “ _Fuck you_.”

“Yeah.” he snorted just as bitterly. “ _Fuck me_.” He rubbed his face, exhausted. He was used to adrenaline leaving his body in a rush, used to the aftershock, used to a lot of things but… It didn’t make anything easier. “Say it.”

They might as well get it out in the open. It had been lingering between them since she had woken up on her horse.

“It should have been _you_.” Octavia snarled, not needing to be invited twice to speak her mind. “ _It should have been you_ , you pathetic _coward!”_

She shouted that last word and it seemed to echo in the night. _Coward_. He _was_ a coward. He should have insisted. He should have forced Octavia into Lincoln’s arms and told him to _run_. He should have walked to Pike and accepted his fate. It would have saved the Grounders. It would have been enough – _more_   than enough probably. It shouldn’t have been _Lincoln_.

All of this had flashed through his mind when he had turned to the tunnel, the girl safely in his arms. All of this had flashed through his mind and he had told himself he was too important, that their people needed _him_.

_Stay strong_ , he had told Lincoln, perhaps because _he_ was weak.

“I know.” he offered without any apologies. What good would apologies do to her now?

It wasn’t arrogance or fear that had made him flee through the tunnel. It was…

_I can’t do this again._

He had something to live for now, something he really, _truly_ , wanted to live for. Something personal and deep that made him selfish. It was why he had stopped her in the first place before the execution, why he had forced her to step back before she could do something earth-shattering like _kiss him_ … He couldn’t be strong when he knew what he was leaving behind. He couldn’t be strong when _she_ would be destroyed by his death.

There was a sharp intake of breath and Octavia stepped closer.

“I don’t mean that.” the girl said, her voice fragile and breaking like it hardly ever did.

“Yes, you do.” he smiled sadly. “And you’re right. It should have been me.”

Because he was the Commander and they were all _kids_. Abby could say all she wanted, they were _still_ kids, all of them. And he should have been _protecting_ them not using them as soldiers or spies, not… He should have protected Lincoln. He had failed him. He had failed Octavia. He had failed everyone.

“Hodnes laik kwelnes.” the girl whispered.

_Love is weakness_.

“I used to think like this.” he countered. “Back on the Ark. It didn’t make me a better person. Ruthless, maybe. Strong in ways but weak in others. I’m not sure there is a perfect answer here, Octavia.”

She crept closer and sat down at the foot of a tree, placing her sword on her lap. She stared at it for a long moment.

“He was all I had.” she confessed eventually.

“You have your brother.” he pointed out cautiously.

“A traitor.” she scoffed, turning her head away.

“He is still your brother.” he insisted. “And you have Indra and your friends. And Abby. And I’m not much of anything right now but, for what it’s worth, you have me. You’re _not_ alone.”

“But _he_ made me _belong_.” she argued. “He… He was _everything_.”

“I know.” he sighed. “I know.”

“When we take Arkadia back…” Octavia pressed. “Pike is mine.” He didn’t answer that. If he had any say over the matter, Pike _wouldn’t_ be hers to kill. Revenge never led anyone anywhere good. She seemed to understand his lack of promises because she scowled and looked away. They kept watch in silence for the longest time. “Why did you leave her behind?”

The question didn’t surprise him and he shrugged. “She doesn’t run away if she can help people. It’s not her.”

“It’s not you either.” the girl replied.

He took it as an accusation at first and then realized it was reassurance.

He didn’t say anything.

She didn’t either.

Silence suited them both.


	15. Drabble req

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a few drabble req on tumblr so here is the kabby batch ;)

  1. **“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”**



“Weren’t you supposed to be done two hours ago?”

Marcus froze for a moment, first because he still wasn’t used to someone coming and going in his room in his absence and second because there was a touch of hostility in her voice that he wasn’t sure what he had done to warrant. He closed the door slowly and turned toward the bed where Abby was sitting, in only panties and a tank top. He glanced around the room, took note of the now blown candles scattered all around and he inwardly winced, certain he had backed himself into a tough spot.

“Indra and I got talking about the new security perimeter and I kind of lost track of time.” he admitted. “Sorry.”

“Miller and the others came back on time. I checked.” she commented, tugging on a lose thread on his comforter.

He dearly hoped she had put clothes on for that.

“I told them to go ahead.” he replied uncertainly, not sure if he was in trouble or not. And _why_ would he be in trouble? Yes, after the AI disaster and everything else, they had finally given themselves a chance but it was still pretty new, he still wasn’t an expert at serious stable relationships and there was something in her attitude that told him she was relying on her long years of marriage experience to make him feel especially bad tonight.

“And how is Indra?” she asked flatly, tugging on that thread a little more harshly. The comforter would never recover, he decided sadly.

“She’s well.” he frowned. “What… Wait a minute. Are you _jealous_?”

Wrong thing to say.

She glared at him.

“Of course, I’m not _jealous_.” she replied. “I trust you.”  

“Okay.” he said warily, shedding his guard jacket and tossing it on the table. “Then what…”

“I wanted to make tonight special. And you missed it.” she shrugged. “I’m not jealous, I’m annoyed. And tired. Goodnight, Marcus.”

She climbed into bed and settled down, turning her back to him.

This time he didn’t wince _only_ inwardly. He took his time taking off his boots, hoping it would give her a chance to cool down a little, and strip down to his underwear before slipping right behind her to spoon her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He pressed a kiss against her neck.

“That’s the point of surprises.” she grumbled.

“Abby, I’m sorry.” he insisted, covering her neck with slow purposeful kisses. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Do your best.” she challenged. “I’m pretty annoyed.”

He applied himself to earn her forgiveness by worshiping every inch of her body.

  1. **“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”**



“Don’t act like a child.” she scolded him, pushing him back until his knees bumped into the cot and he had no choice but to sit down. “Take off your jacket and your shirt.”

She turned around as much to give him some privacy as to ready her instruments. Hunting parties were bound to go wrong from time to time but getting shot by one their own guards? Granted the man had been aiming at a wild boar but he had tripped and the bullet had grazed Marcus’ shoulder instead. It went without saying that they had brought back the boar and that the commander of the guards had kept bleeding silently for at least an hour and a half.

“It’s just a scratch, Abby.” he sighed. “I’ve seen worse.”

“I will be the judge of that.” she retorted, slipping gloves on. She turned back only to find he was still dressed. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

He sulked a little but did as he was told.

It was indeed a scratch, she didn’t even had to stitch it. She still cleaned and bandaged it.

“You know… Your bedside manners aren’t great.” he joked. “That’s the class you got a B in, right?”

She didn’t even try to fight her smile as she took off her gloves. “And there I was about to offer to kiss it better…”

  1. **“Teach me to fight.”**



“Abby…” Marcus sighed.

“I don’t see why you are making this an issue.” she cut him off harshly, folding her arms across her chest while leaning against the council table. She was also blocking his path to the door. She was decided to confront the issue _now_ , he had been evading her requests for weeks now.

“ _I_ am not making this an issue.” he retorted. “ _I_ am a busy Chancellor who…”

“I can’t believe you would play the Chancellor card.” she scoffed, shaking her head at him in disappointment. “And I can’t believe you would lie straight to my face either. This has nothing to do with you lacking time.” Although, admittedly, time was a luxury lately, all the more so time spent _together_. Newly elected Chancellors didn’t have a lot of free time and neither did doctors. “Cut the crap, Marcus. Teach me to fight.”

Marcus opened his mouth and closed it again, mirroring her stance by crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the table. “Why?”

“Because I need to know how to protect myself.” she replied immediately.

“You never seemed interested before so _why_ _now_?” he insisted. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against you learning some moves, Abby. I would like it better, in fact. But _now_? After everything that happened?”

“Precisely _because_ of everything that happened.” she whispered, averting her eyes.

The events that had taken place from Pike’s election to Jaha and the AI’s downfall were left not discussed by tacit agreement. It was too painful. Too _raw_.

“Abby, you went through a lot…” Marcus said carefully.

“Look, if you don’t want to teach me, I will find someone else.” she declared. “So what will it be? You or Bellamy?”

He studied her for a few seconds, trying to determine if she was serious probably and then he rolled his eyes.

“Fine.” he surrendered. “I’ll teach you.”

  1. **“Kiss me, quick!”**



Abby slipped her hand in Marcus’ as they stepped out of the cinema, looking up with a smile. He smiled back and she lost herself in the moment for a second. It was foolish of her, she knew, to be so in love at her age.

“So…” Marcus said, his smile deepening. “It’s been three months…”

“It has.” she hummed, her own smile deepening. “Three _very good_ months.”

“ _Awesome_ months.” he corrected, bumping her shoulder with his. “I’m wondering… Aren’t we past the cloak and dagger thing? When do we tell the kids?”

Her smile faltered.

“Marcus…” she hesitated. They had met through the kids. Clarke spent so much time with the Blake siblings it had seemed normal to invite their guardian over for dinner one night. When the kids weren’t at her house, they were at his so… It had seemed the friendly thing to do. She hadn’t planned on falling in love with him. She hadn’t planned on him falling in love right back. “I’m not sure Clarke is ready.”

“Clarke or you?” he asked, just as perceptive as usual. “Look, Abby, if you’re not ready to go public… It’s alright with me. I just want to know where we stand.”

“I never dated anyone since Jake’s death.” She shook her head. “I don’t want her to… I don’t know… I don’t want her to feel like I’m betraying her father or…” She stopped at a loss for words and shrugged.

He squeezed her hand with a small smile. “That’s okay. We can…”

“Oh my god!” she squeaked, spotting her daughter’s blond mane of hair coming closer. “She’s not supposed to be here! What do we do, Marcus? What do we… Kiss me, quick!”

She didn’t give him time to ponder the strange request, she grabbed the lapels of his coat and tugged. Their lips crashed together without the usual finesse but Marcus caught up quick and responded to her kiss, drawing her to his chest and trying to hide her.

“Hi, Mom!” She heard Clarke said as the teenager walked past, sounding nonplussed. “Kane.”

It was followed by Raven’s clear laughter.

Abby ended the kiss but the two girls were already inside the cinema.

Marcus cleared his throat, discretely wiping his lips with his thumb and very much hiding his smile. “You know… I like this move so I’m not complaining but that only works in spy movies.”

 

 


	16. A Sort Of Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Cami’s birthdayyyyyyy and do you know what Cami loves? Short and fluffy. So this is short (for me ok, I’m a graphomaniac) and this is hopefully fluffy. I’m not an expert at this. I tried.  
> Happy Birthday Cami!

Marcus looked peaceful.

Abby shifted her head on the pillow with a smile. Most of her forearm was under his shirt, her hand spread over his heart so she could feel every beat, her thumb drawing soothing pattern on his warm skin.

It wasn’t always like that. Even three months after everything that had gone down with Pike, Jaha and the AI, nightmares were still plaguing them. They were learning to put everything behind but it was slow going.

 _They_ had been slow going too.

They had taken the time to lick their own wounds before exploring this, _them_ , but they had done it while leaning on each other, drawing strength from the other… It hadn’t been easy to look behind the guilt and the pain but… They had done it. And, truth be told, Abby was glad for the pain. It was only when you lived too long without something that you realized how vital it was.

They were settled in _this_ now. This was comfortable, _easy_ … This was precious and this was _everything_.

She pressed a light kiss on his shoulder, over the thin fabric of his shirt, careful not to disturb his slumber. His lips stretched into a smile.

“What are you doing?” he asked, more curious than annoyed, his voice rough from a good night sleep. She liked his voice first thing in the morning, it was even deeper than usual.

“Watching you fake sleep.” she grinned. “Very entertaining.”

He opened his eyes, his smile deepening even more, and covered the hand on his chest with his own. She cursed the shirt that prevented her from feeling his palm on her skin.

“Hi.” he said, leaning in to steal a slow kiss.

“Good morning.” she whispered against his lips.

“It can be only good if it starts like this.” he chuckled, rolling on his side to wrap his arm around her. Her hand was trapped between their bodies, under his shirt, but she didn’t complain.  

“What would they all say if they knew their Chancellor is a big romantic?” she teased, resting her forehead against his.

“I think that secret is already out.” he snorted, brushing her lips against hers. She sneaked her hand out of his shirt and brought it to his face, running her nails through the beard. He hummed in satisfaction like a cat who liked to be scratched behind the ears and it made her grin harder. His hand roamed up her back to her shoulder and trailed along her arm to her hand, stilling it against his cheek. There was a spark of uncertainty in his eyes now that she didn’t quite like. “Abby?”

“What?” she frowned, already readying herself to hear about a new catastrophe he would have hidden from her until now.

He hesitated a moment longer and then licked his lips. “Life’s short. I want to wake up like this every day for the rest of it.”

She blinked, taking that in, and sighed in relief.

“ _Idiot_.” she snorted. “I thought you were going to say another evil AI was about to take over.”

It probably meant progress that she could joke about it now.

“I’m serious.” he insisted. “I know it hasn’t been so long but…”

“I’m not getting married right now.” she cut him off. That would involve a conversation with Clarke about Jake – which would jeopardize the fragile relationship she had managed to build with her daughter – as well as a lot of attention and fuss from everyone in Arkadia and she could frankly do _without_ that at the moment. “I’m not saying _no,_ Marcus. But not _right_ _now_.”

His lips twitched in amusement and he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “Okay, this is awkward because… I wasn’t proposing.”

“Oh.” she winced, feeling her cheeks reddening.

“You really think I would propose to you like _this_?” he laughed. “Abby, when I propose – and I probably will someday – I’ll do it _right_. With a ring for starters.”

She didn’t need a ring to be happy but she didn’t tell him. It would make _him_ happy more likely and who was she to deny him _that_?

“What did you mean then?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

He gave a small shrug and pressed a kiss on the inside of her wrist. “I meant… Maybe you could move in here with me. Or I could move to your room. Or, you know… We could even build a house.”

People were doing that more and more. _Building_. Arkadia was growing everyday and people tended to leave the station nowadays, to _expand_.

“So just to be clear…” she teased. “You’re not proposing but you’re _sort of_ proposing.” 

He stared at her, a soft smile on his lips. “I don’t want to waste time. And I’m sure about this, I’m sure I want a future with you.”

It was still complicated. There would be gossip – even more gossip than at the moment – and Clarke might still have something to say about it but… Abby couldn’t quite bring herself to care. She spent almost all her free time in Marcus’ room when they weren’t both in the war room anyway. Clarke was an adult and lived her life, she didn’t share her quarters anymore. What was there left for her in her room but clean clothes, a few books and some mementoes that would easily be carried to Marcus’ in a few trips?

“Alright.” she accepted, leaning in to kiss him. “Yes.”

He pulled her on him with a laugh and she squealed half in surprise and half in joy.

She had forgotten life could be so happy.  

  

 

 


	17. In The City Of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I watched the last episode and no kabby so I decided there were busy apartment hunting in the COL and this happened XD There is smut in there, be warned!

“Come on.”

There is no resisting her command or her tugging of his hand. He doesn’t even want to. He follows Abby along streets and corridors, turning his head left and right, exhaled by her joyful laughs and her bright smiles. Her obvious happiness lights an echoing peace in him. He doesn’t remember ever seeing her like this. She is wearing a black cocktail dress, her long hair is loose on her shoulders, so smooth and glossy… Even on the Ark, he doesn’t remember her ever looking so healthy, so _glowing_ …

She is like a beacon in the night and he can’t help but follow, awed by the City of Light and everything it offers.

She leads him all the way to a building and then all the way to a door and she stops, smiling like he has never seen her smile before. He reaches out then, brushes his hand against her cheek, gently tucks her hair behind her ear…

There is a strange almost foreign feeling in chest and it takes him a second to realize he is _happy_. Completely, utterly _happy_.

“I love you.”

The words are easy to utter. They spill from his lips almost without his consent but he doesn’t second guess or regret. There is no room for second guessing and regreting in the City of Light.

“I love you.” she answered just as easily, pressing a kiss against his inner wrist. “I missed you.” She furrows her brow for a second and he frowns too because he knows what she is talking about but he can’t quite remember. She smiles. “It doesn’t matter. You are here now. And we will be together forever.”

There is no death in the City of Light.

There is no sense of time either.

They just _exist_.

She opens the door and leads him in an apartment.

He has never seen anything like this, not with his own eyes. It looks like the places in the old movies saved in the Ark’s library, something coming from a past long gone just like the city. And yet it is here. A spacious living-room with leather couches facing a fireplace, potted flowers in every corner, shelves full of books and trinkets, framed paintings on the walls… It opens on a kitchen full of equipment he has no idea how to use but he thinks he would enjoy learning… A long counter separates the two spaces, lined with high stools…

There are bay windows all over, overlooking the city. They are in the highest levels and the sight is spectacular. It reminds him a little of the Ark but just a little.

There are more rooms and he explores. There is a bedroom with an en-suite bathroom. The bed is huge with a checked red and white bedspread and the walls are a light brown. There are potted plants in there too, a small bonsai that reminds him of the Eden tree on one of the nightstands and a medical essay propped open on the other. The bathroom has a large bathtub and turquoise tiles on the floor, fluffy white towels with a red trim and two toothbrushes in the glass on the sink…

“Do you like it?” Abby asks, sliding her hand in his.

She sounds eager, _younger_. Carefree perhaps.

He is not used to this side of Abby but he smiles warmly in answer because he _does_ like it. And so he goes on with his visit, never letting go of her hand.

There are more rooms down the hall. In one of them there are pencils and sketchbooks on every free surface. It puzzles him for a moment and then he blinks the feeling away. The other rooms are equally puzzling but the feeling is just as quickly gone.

They end up back in the living-room and Marcus looks at everything more closely, the plants and the paintings… Abby leans against the fireplace and watches him with a smile.

“Where are we?” he asks, curiously trailing his fingers on the books before going to stand in front of the window. He still finds the view breathtaking.

“Home.” she answers quietly.

_Home_ …

The word stirs something strange in him, triggers an inner alarm he can’t quite pinpoint or explain. Home… _Home isn’t here_ , _home is Arkadia,_ a voice whispers in the back of his mind only to be immediately erased by a welcomed sense of peace.

Home is where Abby is.

“I love it.” he offers honestly and he is rewarded by another delighted smile.

She crosses the room without any hurry and locks her arms around his neck so he wraps his around her waist and holds her close. He buries his nose in her hair and breathes in her familiar smell. It is comforting and reassuring. He doesn’t understand why he feels the need for comfort or reassurance because he doesn’t feel afraid or in pain and yet it _is_ what he seeks in her embrace.

He can feel the warmth of her body through the cotton dress. It hugs her figure, enhances her curves, and he finds his hands exploring what is usually hidden under jackets and loose pants. He feels her smile against his neck before her lips brush his skin, retracing the line of his jaw to meet his mouth.

He doesn’t know when kissing her became so natural.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, angling his head the way she wants it and she deepens the kiss. It is enough for the whole embrace to grow less innocent. Her tongue pokes at his lips and he is only too happy to part them for her, to grant her access. There is nothing he won’t do for her, nothing he won’t give or _sacrifice_ …

Flashes of a gun pointed at her head take over the moment and he draws back with a gasp.

“ _Abby_.”

It comes out terrified and his heart is racing and he doesn’t know where the gut clenching terror is coming from but it doesn’t _fade_.

“I’m here.” she whispers, sounding a little worried. She frames his face in her hands and rests her forehead against his. “Marcus… I’m here. You’re safe now. We’re both safe.”

_Are they?_

There is a nagging feeling in his chest, something that won’t settle down, something that tells him none of this is _right_ …

“We shouldn’t be here.” he murmurs.

“Jaha doesn’t need us for now.” she replies. “We will know when he does.”

He closes his eyes, tightening his hold on her. “That’s not what I mean.” He doesn’t know what he means really. He only knows Jaha’s name makes him want to roar with an anger that dies as soon as he feels it. There is no place for anger in the City of Light. “Abby… Abby, I feel like I forgot something. Something _important_.”

She shakes her head a little and he opens his eyes again. “There is no pain here. If you don’t remember then it is better this way. If you _need_ to… If you need to, Alie will make sure you do when it’s time but in the meantime…”

She looks uncertain and he licks his lips, struggling against the fog in his mind.

“I think it has to do with Clarke.” he says. “I think she’s in danger.”

Her right hand clenches a little against his cheek and she slides her arms around his neck again to press her face against his shoulder. She’s trembling. She’s fighting, he senses, fighting against this peace that wants to wash over everything.

“Marcus…” she breathes out. “Marcus, who is Clarke? I know I _should_ know. I know… But…”

“Clarke is…” He falters. _Who is Clarke?_ “Clarke is…”

_Pain, Clarke is pain, for you and for me,_ a new voice whispers in his head, a colder one, one he doesn’t quite identify. _You have to protect Abby from pain and the City of Light can do that. You can be happy here. You_ are _happy here. Safe. Together. Forever. No more pain. No more hardship. Only peace._

“I’m scared.” Abby confesses. “I’m not supposed to be scared.”

“I’m scared too.” he admits. And she is _right_ , it isn’t supposed to happen. Not here. He looks around, propping his chin on her shoulder and the apartment doesn’t look as perfect, as welcoming. “How did you find this place?”

“There is a place for everyone here.” she answers. “This is mine. I wanted it to be _ours_.”

“Ours.” he repeats and he likes the sound of that so much that the fear abates a little. He wants to say he missed her just like she had earlier but he doesn’t remember why he feels this way. There is no reason to feel this way. She is here now. With him. And they would remain together. “Yes.”

He doesn’t know what he is saying yes to.

“I feel like something is missing.” she frowns a little, drawing back to look at him. “I thought it was you but it is _still_ missing.”

He thinks about the room with the drawing stuff and to the other three bedrooms with random objects like mythology books, tools and pictures of horses. He thinks the rooms belong to _people_. But who?

The whole thing feels odd, like a dream. Marcus feels like he is sleepwalking.

“We’re real.” he says firmly. “You and me, we’re real.”

“We’re real.” she echoes with equal firmness, fisting his shirt in her hand. “We _are_.”

He isn’t sure of much. Every time he thinks he remembers, a wave of peace washes the memories away. But if he is sure of _anything_ he is sure of her. _Them_.

She looks as lost as she is, equally struggling with her own mind.

He kisses her because of this strange latent fear in his chest, because something he can’t quite understand is whispering _he could lose her, has lost her, will lose her_ … She kisses back with utter abandon and equal despair.

And then the feeling is gone again and there is just _her_ and _his love_ for her and everything is right in the world again.

“Something’s wrong.” she whispers against his lips.

“Yes.” he agrees.

A flash of _something_ clouds her eyes and she runs her hand all the way down his arm, unwrapping it from her waist to brush her thumb on his palm.

“Marcus…” There is an urgency to her voice. “Marcus, did I hurt you?”

“It wasn’t you.” The words are out before he can think them and he blinks. “I don’t… I don’t remember.” But he is sure of this. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

_It was Jaha…_

_And he really wants to snap Jaha’s neck._

Again, the thought is gone as soon as it is formed.

Abby’s frown is still there and she brings his palm to her lips, seeking an absolution he doesn’t know how to grant because he doesn’t remember the offense. She doesn’t relinquish his hand when she steps back, locking her eyes with his. And he follows. Freely.

She guides him to the bedroom, _their_ bedroom – and it is obvious now, there are touches of _them_ everywhere, it reminds him of the war room, of how they can take a space and make it _theirs_ – and stands at the foot of the bed, tilting her head to the side.

It isn’t really a question, more of an invitation.

He brushes her long hair over her shoulder and trails his fingers on her cheek before leaning in for a kiss. He takes his time, they aren’t in any hurry for once. He explores and learns. The shape of her mouth, the taste of her kiss, what makes her hum and what makes her hand clench at the small of his back…

She is impatient, as always, and it makes him smile because he would have made the moment last a little longer, relish in the sweetness, but her hands are already pulling his shirt over his head and he is surprised, for a short second, not to feel the heavy weight of his guard jacket on his shoulders. Idiotic, there are no needs for _guards_ in the City of Light.

The shirt out of her way she loses no time in doing some exploring of her own. Her palms roam on his chest, making muscles twitch on their wake. His mouth is parched and he licks his lips.

“Abby…”

It comes out almost begging but he doesn’t care. She smiles at him and her mouth soon follows the path her hands have taken, her teeth nibbling on a nipple only for her lips to wander elsewhere before he can process it.

He doesn’t really mean to push her on the bed but her knees bump against the mattress and down she goes, steadying herself by grabbing his hips and almost making him topple over. The new height difference seems to please her because her mouth is back on him in a flash, following the trail of dark hair disappearing down his pants. Her fingers are already unbuckling his belt and he barely has time to gather her hair in his hand that his pants and underwear are gone.

Her mouth closes on him and his sight flashes white.

For a perfect moment, pleasure clouds _everything_. His heart is pumping hard and fast and nothing exists but her lips and her hands and how _warm and wet and perfect_ she feels…

He’s close when weird thoughts start coming. It’s like static on a screen. There is phantom pain in every bone of his body, the smell of blood in the air, screams and terror…

“Abby…” he calls out and he pulls her away before she can finish him. He pulls her away and kisses her because he needs to know she’s there, he needs to know _this_ is real. It’s frantic, dictated as much by his need for _her_ than by a cowardly and hopeless attempt at forgetting the odd ghost-like sensations. He kisses her throat and her collarbone, his hands clumsily looking for the zipper…

She’s the one who unzips the dress in the end, smiling at his obvious nervousness, and there is so much love and trust and _lust_ in her gaze that he calms down. He calms down and _forgets_ because she is here and safe and it is all that counts.

His hands become less frantic and he peels the dress off her body slowly because he has been wanting to do that for a long time now. Bra and panties follow the dress and for a moment he just watches her, takes her in, commits the sight to memory…

“Are you going to do something or do I have to do _everything_?” she challenges.

He smirks as he kisses her ankle and moves his mouth up her calf and thigh before starting again with her other leg, never looking away from her eyes.

“You’re beautiful.” he tells her and he means it. “So beautiful…”

She smiles the same smile she’s used to flashing him every time she means mischief and pulls him up by the shoulder until their bodies are perfectly aligned. He knows what she wants but he isn’t willing to give it to her yet. He drops his head to her chest, tasting and playing with her breasts, his hands gently kneading all the flesh he could find…

“Marcus…” she protests in a breathless whine when he kisses down her stomach, his intent clear. “Later, please. I want _you_ now.”

He sighs and presses a regretful peck on his intended target, smiling when her hips buckle, before settling once against between her legs, his mouth immediately seeking hers.

She is more than ready for him but he goes slowly all the same, if only because he has a clear idea of just how long it has been since her last time.

The sounds she makes when he moves in and out of her are slowly but surely driving him to madness and it takes all he has to control himself, not to give in to the primitive urge to _fuck._ He kisses the perspiration on her face, feeling the cold drops of sweat running down his own back as he fights to keep his thrusts deep and regular.

He reads the same urge in her eyes, the same _hunger_ for _more_ , but she doesn’t ask him to pick up the pace. _Next time_ , he thinks. Next time they would be wild and rough and there would be no restrain but this is their first time and it isn’t about sex as much as about _them_.

They’re _making love_ not _fucking_.

She arcs her back, her breasts pressing against his chest and he presses down with his hips in answer. One of her hands is gripping his butt, the other is tangled in his hair, urging him closer, _always_ closer…

They’re almost there now.

Their lips meet and he slips a hand between their bodies, his thrusts becoming a little more chaotic as he strokes her to her climax.

She comes with a cry, tossing her head back, and he follows her over the edge.

The pleasure is blinding.

And in a flash it turns to pain, to the blood in the streets of Polis, to the falsely peaceful faces of their friends kneeling around them, to Jaha speaking in the background, to the smell of death and rot and _decay_ … His whole body is in agony. His eyes meet Abby’s and he knows at the look on her face that she is right there with him, _awake at last_.

Before he can open his mouth it’s over.

They are back in their bedroom, panting hard but not for the right reasons.

He is still in her and she is still clinging to him. Their eyes meet just like they had in Polis, and they both stare at each other with pure horror, their memories restored by bliss. _Pleasure_ , he figures, _it must have affected the chip somehow._

“Marcus…” she panics. “Marcus… Oh, _god_ … I never meant… I’m so _sorry_ … I had to take the chip… I had to save Raven… It wasn’t my choice… I would never… _Marcus…_ ”

“It’s okay, we’ll find a way out.” he promises, propping himself on his elbow to cup her cheek, to _ground_ her. “I promise Abby. We’ll find a way out.”

She blinks and he understands as pleasure fades from her eyes that it won’t be so easy.

_A way out of what?_

The question is puzzling as he comes down from his own high, no longer blinded by his bliss. He smiles down at Abby and she smiles back. He kisses her and rolls on his side so he can cradle her close. She snuggles against him, literally clinging to him and pressing herself as close to him as she can.

She’s trembling a little.

He wants to ask if she’s okay but it is a stupid question so he swallows it back. Everyone is always okay in the City of Light.

Something is not settling right in his stomach but he doesn’t know what it is because he feels _happy_ in a way he hasn’t in years _if ever_. He wonders if she feels the same way.

“I love you.” he hums and it is easy to say, no second guessing and no regretting. There are no place for second guessing and regretting in the City of Light.

“I love you.” she answers without hesitation or self-consciousness. There are no place for that either in the City of Light.

Just happiness.

Blind, deaf and all-encompassing peace.

Everything he wants and desires is here in this apartment, _in his arms_.

So why is there an uncomfortable itching at the back of his mind?


	18. The Difficult Demands Of Chancellor-ing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in the gap between S2 and S3 and it's very silly

Abby sank on the couch with a long sigh, glaring at the pile of reports she had yet to examine. Her glare turned into a pleading look when Marcus came in the war room, arms full with more reports.

“You know, in retrospect I think Jaha made being chancellor look _easy_.” she complained.

Marcus smiled at her with obvious amusement and placed his reports at the top of her pile before dropping next to her.

“To be fair, he wasn’t a doctor on top of it.” he replied. “And it _has_ its perks. The couch is comfy.”

The couch he had claimed on one of the first raids of Mount Weather by using Chancellor priority pick in her name _even though_ nothing like that was supposed to exist and _despite_ the fact she hadn’t authorized him to _use_ her title like that. However, the couch _was_ comfy and she had spent more nights on it than she could count since Arkadia had started to expand so she wasn’t complaining about the liberties he took.

“Any word on…” she asked because he was coming back from a survey mission.

“No.” he cut her off, shaking his head with a sad face. “Sorry.”

She forced a smile on her lips but ducked her head, pretending to read the first report on the pile. “It’s alright. We’ll find her.”

She needed to cling to that hope. Clarke would be found. _When_ she wanted to be found probably… But she _would_ be.

“We will. I promise.” Marcus offered before dividing the pile in half. “Here, I’ll help you.”

It went beyond his duties as commander of the guards but she didn’t protest. It wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last time and, really, she might have been Chancellor in name but they took every decision _together_. They might as well be co-Chancellors.

“Have I told you how much I love you recently?” she sighed in relief. Maybe she could _actually_ afford a few hours of sleep in her bed that night before she was due to medical in the morning.

“I’m not sure you _ever_ said it but it’s always good to know.” he chuckled, his eyebrows shooting up.

There was a veiled question behind the joke and she found herself furiously blushing like a teenager because she hadn’t intended to say _that_ at all. That should teach her to watch her tongue when she was sleep deprived and lacking coffee.

“Don’t look so smug.” she teased, pretending to be more at ease than she was. “I also love Jackson because he makes sure I have coffee waiting for me in the mornings, I love Sinclair because he includes a summary that avoids me to read the techno babble in his reports and I love Lincoln because he never complains when I send him to collect herbs for me.”

“I see. You have a type.” Marcus openly laughed, standing up to put the kettle to boil. He grabbed the two mugs that now permanently resided next to each other on the desk and rummaged around until he found the pot where they kept the tea. “You love guys who do things for you.”

“Guilty as charged.” she admitted. Lately, she tended to love _people_ who would make her already complicated life _easier_ instead of more difficult. It didn’t mean she loved the latter ones any less but she did tend to get irritated with them more quickly – and right now Clarke and Raven were on top of that list, the first one for leaving her without saying goodbye and not giving her news, the second one because she was stubborn and refused to let her help with her leg.

“So… Is it a proportional system?” he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder. “If I start bringing you coffee in the mornings, does it win me any point?”

Truth be told, if she had been counting points, Marcus would have been ahead of everyone by a large margin. Not that she _was_ counting points. Or reflecting on how much she loved Marcus. Or comparing the exact nature of that love with the one she felt for other people.

“You would steal poor Jackson’s points.” she accused, shaking her head with mocked disappointment.

“All is fair in love and war, Abby.” he shrugged. “You know me. I like to be the Chancellor’s favorite.”

There was a note of self-deprecation in his voice she chose to ignore. There were wounds that took longer than others to heal. The Culling and his behavior on the Ark were things he still hadn’t truly forgiven himself for – _she_ wasn’t sure she had forgiven herself for a lot of the things they had done up there but then again she was of the opinion some things were simply _unforgivable_ , you could let go of them but _forgiving_ them now… that was another story. 

“The overachiever.” she teased, keeping her tone light. “I wouldn’t worry too much. You are in a good place on my list of favorites.”

“ _Good place_.” He wrinkled his nose and handed her a mug before sitting next to her once more. “That’s not good enough. Who comes before me and how can I beat them?”

She laughed outright, letting her head fall against the back of the couch and wedging the mug on her lap, careful not to spill anything on her pants. She rested her cheek against the frayed fabric of the couch and looked at him with a smile. “You always make me laugh. I like that.”

His eyes were kind, twinkling with amusement and something else she wasn’t quite ready to identify. “Does that make me rank higher on your list of favorites?”

“We should get to work.” she said but she didn’t move to grab the first report.

He took a sip of his tea, his smile deepening. She tried not to notice how much younger he looked when he smiled like that and she utterly failed.

“You _have_ to tell me who comes before me on that list.” he insisted.

“Chancellors don’t _have_ to tell anyone _anything_.” she countered. “That’s law.”

“No, it’s not.” he scoffed.

“I think it is, actually.” she argued. Not that either of them had read the Charter in a while. They were trying to build a new society down there not to replicate all the mistakes they had made on the Ark.

He took another sip of his tea, watching her. “I need to know who my rivals are. Call it political strategy.”

“I thought you were tired of politics.” she remarked, bringing her own mugs to her lips. She blew on it before taking a sip, she didn’t know how he could bear to drink it when it was still scalding.

“One name and I will handle the requests about housings.” he bargained.

She hesitated because it wasn’t something she felt she _should_ be delegating. People wanted to _build,_ to leave the Alpha’s wreckage for houses and ideally she was all for it because the station was crammed but that required _space_ and _space_ required moving the fence – a fence Sinclair wanted to reinforce – as well actual _materials_ that could only be acquired by cutting down trees and trips to Mount Weather both of which might bring trouble with the Grounders. So they were examining the requests case by case to see who would be allowed houses first and who would remain in the station but it was tedious work and often not very fair which she hated.

“Fine.” she surrendered. “Clarke.”

He shook his head, turning to face her completely, stretching his arm on the back of the couch. It brought his hand very close to her hair – which she _actively_ didn’t notice.

“That’s _cheating_.” he complained. It really _was_ because _obviously_ Clarke was her favorite person. “And we were talking _men_.”

“We were?” she frowned a little. She had been talking favorite _people_ not _men_ specifically.

“Last time I checked Jackson, Sinclair and Lincoln were all men.” he teased. “But you’re the doctor, maybe you have info I don’t have.”

She rolled her eyes at him, a smile playing on her lips. “I didn’t know you were interested in them.”

His eyes were twinkling so much it was difficult to look away. “I’m really, _really_ not.” She had no trouble believing _that_. “I’m just curious.”

His voice had dropped to a low tone that made her lick her lips. It was _instinct_ really. And when his eyes darted to her mouth and back up it was also instinct to lean a little closer. And if her forehead was now brushing his fingers… Well it wasn’t _her_ fault was it? It was him who was taking a lot of space on the couch.

“Curious about Jackson, Sinclair and Lincoln?” she asked, playing dumb.

Marcus could be very straightforward. He didn’t beat around the bush if he could avoid it but she had still expected him to end this on a joke. She wasn’t expecting the undeniable truth to spill from his lips or the serious look on his face. “Curious about you.”

For a moment everything that was unsaid floated between them, carried by his rather innocent admission. Well… Innocent in words but loaded in intent.

It wasn’t like Abby hadn’t seen it coming.

She had been watching it coming for a long while now.

“You already know who’s my favorite, Marcus.” she replied and it was probably telling that she had lowered her own voice to match his tone.

“Maybe I want to hear it.” he pointed out.

His finger twitched the slightest bit and briefly stroke her forehead. It could have been intentional and it could have been accidental, there was no way of telling.

She thought he might kiss her and suddenly it was too much, too fast and too complicated. She wasn’t ready yet. She liked the fragile balance they had now. She liked the easy banter and the long nights spent in comfortable silence studying reports and exchanging ideas about how to ameliorate the camp. She liked the possibility of _more_ that was there, slightly out of reach. She liked the comfort of thinking that it was an option. _Soon_. Soon but _not_ _now_.

“Fine.” she snorted, sitting up straight and grabbing a report. “Monty Green.”

She finished her tea in long mouthfuls, skimming through Sinclair’s description of possible fences ameliorations. She was careful not to glance at Marcus as he sat up too, grabbing his share from the pile.

“That’s not the name I was expecting.” he said, neutral.

“No?” she hummed, turning the page and wishing engineering would send _shorter_ reports. “Monty _never_ gets in trouble. Unlike other men I know.”

“I don’t get in trouble.” he grumbled. She shot him an incredulous look and it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Fine. Maybe _sometimes_ I get in trouble but that’s rich coming from you. How many times did I have to arrest you, Abby?”

He looked like he regretted his words as soon as they were out of his mouth but she simply shrugged, choosing again not to linger on the awkward mix of remorse and guilt that was so obvious in his gaze.

“I think you liked arresting me.” she chuckled.

“I really didn’t.” he answered, more seriously than she would have liked. “Think what you want but I never wanted you dead. _Never_.”

“I don’t think that.” she frowned. “It was just a joke.”

He didn’t look at her, he stared at whatever report he was reading and she made a mental note to review it again later because it was obvious he wasn’t paying attention.

“So why Monty then?” he asked with painful detachment. “I thought you would be going for Bellamy. With Clarke and everything…”

She didn’t quite understand what sort of relationship Clarke and Bellamy shared, to be honest. It seemed even more complicated than the one she had with Marcus and she didn’t want to intrude in her daughter’s life any more than she had to. The peace between them was still too fragile. 

“Bellamy is _your_ favorite.” she stated. “We can’t have the same favorite. It would be unfair to the other kids.”

Kids who all seemed to gravitate around her and Marcus as if they had suddenly been promoted universal parents. She didn’t mind for the most part but the responsibility of it felt crushing sometimes.

“Bellamy certainly isn’t my favorite _woman_ and you’re very good at avoiding the main subject.” he mocked. “I won’t tell you who _she_ is, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask.” she grinned. “And I can take a wild guess.”

“You’re thinking Octavia.” he said. “Wrong again.”

“I’m thinking _Indra_.” she shrugged, keeping her head bent but very much watching him from the corner of her eyes. “According to my sources, she’s your new best friend.”

“You’re my best friend.” he protested offhandedly as if it wasn’t a big deal – and given the madness that were their lives, it probably wasn’t. “Who’s your source?”

She hesitated only a second before snorting. “David.”

Who, it turned out, was a bit of a gossip once he had drunk two glasses of moonshine.

“Turning my guards against me, Abby?” Marcus smirked.

“Technically they’re _my_ guards.” she pointed out. “Chancellor thing.”

“That makes me yours then.” he commented, falsely detached.

“Was that even a question?” she challenged.

He focused on his report, sipped his tea and very much ignored her. She rolled her eyes but turned to her own report, forcing herself to give her whole attention to the suggested ameliorations for the fence. It was a good ten minutes before Marcus’ boot nudged hers.

He cleared his throat. “Indra’s not my favorite woman. Or _person_. Just so we’re clear.”

“Well, I’m not spending all my nights with _Monty,_ am I?” she mumbled, reaching the end of the report and starting again because she had barely registered a few sentences. After five minutes, she nudged his boot back with her own. “You _do_ realize we’re ridiculous and if the kids ever get wind of this they will laugh at us forever for being old and rusty, right?”

He chuckled, sounding a little embarrassed, and ran a hand through his hair. “I used to be so good at this. I was _smooth_ , Abby.”

“What happened then?” she snorted.

“The Ark fell apart.” he shrugged.

“See, you missed a golden opportunity here.” she taunted. “If you had been smooth you would have said…”

“The Ark fell apart and you were trapped on the wrong side of it.” he cut her off. “And I’ve never been so scared in my life. Smooth enough?”

There was a lot to answer to that but she settled for resting her boot against his.

“Smooth enough for now.” she declared.


	19. House Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is smut. There is no beating around the bush about that ! Be warned =) This takes place between the S2/S3 gap because it my happy place right now ;)

Marcus woke up that morning deeply regretting having sparred with Lincoln the previous day. He felt bruised all over – probably because he _was_ bruised all over – and when he sat up he distinctly felt _something_ in his lower back. Pinched nerve, he decided, nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t exactly painful, more like an unpleasant ache he couldn’t shake.

It was manageable through his usual morning check of the camp perimeter and breakfast, more distracting than really problematic, but it grew worse when he went out with Bellamy, Harper and Miller junior to meet Indra. She was supposed to show them a good fishing spot that wouldn’t impact on Trikru people. That involved a lot of walking around and standing up and well before the end of the day there was a new tension between his shoulder blades and he kept pressing his hands against his back every time he could get away with it, discreetly trying to find the knot and get rid of it.

To no avail.

“Kane.” Bellamy frowned in the middle of Indra’s explanation.

“I’m fine.” he grumbled.

Indra eyed him up and down, clearly decided he _was_ fine because for Grounders you were fine if you weren’t lying dead on the grass, and glared at Bellamy for having interrupted over a trivial matter.

Marcus made an effort to be more attentive. If their people’s security could be ensured during the actual fishing, it would be a welcomed additional source of food. They had found plenty at Mount Weather but canned food and fresh food weren’t the same thing – or so Medical claimed.

It was late by the time they returned to Arkadia and he waved away Bellamy’s offer to join the lot of them for dinner – and resolutely ignored the tinge of worry on the young man’s face. He went straight to his quarters, eager for a hot shower and hoping lying down would help make the ache disappear.

The shower part of the plan worked fine. It lulled the small pain to sleep and he breathed easy for the first time that day. He lingered under the stream until the water turned cold. He had just stepped out when he heard the knocks on his door.

Knocks on his door at this time of night couldn’t bear well.

New disaster impending probably.

He hastily wrapped a towel around his hips and hurried to open the door without pausing to think about _who_ would be on the other side. He was suddenly very aware of being half naked and still dripping wet when Abby’s eyes widened before roaming from his neck to his chest, down the length of the towel and all the way back up to his face.

“Sorry.” she said and he didn’t quite know if she was sorry for having so obviously ogled him or for disturbing him.

“It’s okay.” He cleared his throat, glanced over her shoulder to make sure the corridor was empty – because this place was a rumor mill and he didn’t need anyone spreading tales around – and stepped aside. “Come in.”

He closed the door behind her and went back to the bathroom long enough to grab another towel. He rubbed his hair dry _hard_ , trying to stop the drops that kept running down his body. The way she was following them with her eyes was distracting.

“What’s the latest disaster?” he asked when she remained silent a little too long.

“Oh.” She startled a little. “No disaster. Sorry to disappoint.” She grinned at that weak joke and then turned serious. “I thought I would see you at dinner tonight. You were supposed to tell me how it went with Indra.”

“I sent Bellamy to see you.” he frowned. “I told him to…”

“Yes, he summed it up for me.” she cut him off, pursing her lips and placing her hands on her hips. “ _Now_. Do you care to tell me what is wrong with you?”

He blinked, the towel freezing mid rub, leaving him completely disheveled. “What?”

She had her best _you’re in trouble now_ mom look. He had seen it used on Clarke – and occasionally some of the Hundred kids – enough times to know whatever it was she was pissed about she wouldn’t leave without a very good explanation and possibly a heartfelt apology. Thing was, he didn’t know what he had done wrong.

“Several people reported to me throughout the day claiming you seemed to be in pain. They were afraid you wouldn’t go to Medical to get checked. And knowing you, they were right to be.” she explained, waving down at herself. “So Medical comes to you.”

There was a heavy coat of sarcasm in that last sentence and he rolled his eyes because… talk about _hypocrisy_. She was the last one to seek medical help when she was hurt or sick.

“I’m fine.” he shrugged and immediately winced when the pain woke up.

“You look _absolutely_ fine.” she deadpanned, folding her arms in front of her chest. “I have _never_ seen you look better.”

“Honestly, it’s nothing.” he insisted. “I just pinched something in my back. It doesn’t hurt that much. Nothing a good night of sleep won’t cure.”

He hoped.

She studied his face for a moment, searching for a lie, and then gave up on the _pissed off_ attitude to move into full _doctor mode_. “Can I take a look?”

Was there any point in saying no?

She waved him to the bed and he sat down with his back to her, trying not to feel weird when she sat right behind him. He was a little too aware he wasn’t wearing much.

“What are all those bruises?” she asked and he could hear the frown in her voice. Fingers brushed against the bruise on his side and he instinctively sucked in a breath. “Sorry. Is it that bad? On a scale of one to ten how much pain are you in? And _don’t lie to me_ , Marcus, you could have internal injuries.”

Her tone was dubious and for good reasons. The bruises weren’t pretty but they weren’t life threatening either.

“It doesn’t hurt. You just surprised me.” he admitted, glancing at her over his shoulder.

She briefly met his eyes and then focused on his back again. “I’m going to touch. Don’t be surprised.” That warning was immediately followed by hands probing at his lower back. He groaned when she found the exact spot that had bothered him all day and arched his back a little when she pressed. She poked around the area, made him turn his head as far it would go left and right, made him roll his shoulders… “It’s just a pinched nerve.” she concluded. “And your back is in knots.”

“Told you.” he triumphed.

“Yes, we should hire you in Medical.” she humored him. “Lie down on your stomach.”

He frowned and very much _didn’t_ lie down. “What for?”

That was a dumb question if there ever was one.

“Did you miss the part when I said your back is in knots?” she snorted, pushing on his shoulder a little but he refused to move. “Come on, I promise I’m good at this.”

He _knew_ she would be good at this. He didn’t _doubt_ she would be good at this.

He was afraid he would enjoy _this_ a little too much.

“I’m not dressed.” He stated the obvious because the obvious needed stating.

“You’ve got a towel. I won’t peek underneath.” she grinned and he had the vicious suspicion she was enjoying the whole thing a little too much herself. “Don’t be difficult, Marcus. It’s me or Jackson but someone is taking care of your back.”

For a terrible second, he actually considered walking to Medical to get checked by her assistant because _this_ wouldn’t end well. There had been too much tension between them lately – a _good_ kind of tension, the kind of tension that would make his body a little too pleased to have her hands on him. There may or may not have been a few embarrassing dreams in the last weeks… He may or may not have thought about her hands a little too much.

He wasn’t sure she knew what was going on in his head  but when he glanced over his shoulder again she looked calm, there was an amused knowing smile on her lips and a determined spark in her eyes and he thought _maybe_ he wasn’t the only one who felt it.

“When you put it like that…” he snorted and carefully laid down on his stomach, his cheek against the fabric of his bed spread, his arms lined with his sides, and he waited.

She shifted closer and rubbed her palms against her pants to warm them. He closed his eyes and hoped he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself tonight.

Then her palm pressed against the small of his back and he stopped thinking.

It was soft at first, almost hesitant, but her hands were warm, she was bowing her head to get a clear view of what she was doing and he could feel the tip of her ponytail brushing against his side.

It wasn’t long before she found the aching spot again and she pressed and kneaded with more confidence and he groaned, half in pain and half in relief. His eyes immediately shot open and he searched hers, alarmed at the noise he had made and what she would think of it. She was still smiling, her eyes twinkling, and she pressed on the knot again. The grunt was instinctive.

“You’re having too much fun with this.” he accused.

“It’s pretty much the point of massages.” she retorted. “You are supposed to enjoy it and I am supposed to enjoy you enjoying it.”

“Is that what they say in the doctor textbook?” he chuckled.

“Do you want me to do this the doctor way?” she asked, lifting challenging eyebrows.

There was a new kind of tension in the room, one they had been dancing around a lot lately. He licked his lips. “What’s the _other_ way?”

She used the hands resting on his lower back to steady herself as she passed a leg around his hips and settled on his ass. She did it with deliberate slowness, a touch of uncertainty perceptible underneath the apparent confidence. Then her hands were back to work. She had unrestrained access now and it wasn’t long before she tore another noise out of his throat.

She worked on his lower back until the pain was completely gone and then she started on the knot between his shoulder blades. She was patient and diligent and he was complete _mush_ by the time she attacked the back of his neck. He had lost count of the number of groans, grunts and moans he had let out.

“ _God_ , Abby…” he breathed out when she coiled a hand around his nape.

“Told you I was good at this.” she retorted smugly.

It wasn’t just what her hands were doing though. It was the weight of her on his ass, the warmth of her body, the hair that brushed against his skin now and then…

He was hard and throbbing against the mattress and it was embarrassing.

Her hands rubbed their way down his arms, first one then the other, and then she shuffled back on his legs and he immediately lamented the loss of contact. Until her fingers started working on his thighs.

“Abby.” he said, a little uncertainly. Her fingers were at the edge of the towel and he didn’t think she could see or feel anything but… It was flirting with decency. And he didn’t want to spring anything on her. Quite literally.

“Relax.” she chided him, working on the muscles of his right thigh. “Enjoy.”

He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes riveted on the floor. “I’m enjoying it a bit too much.”

“Oh.” she said. There was no disgust, disappointment or annoyance in her voice. She sounded… _pleased_. “Do you want me to stop or…” She brushed the back of his knee just then and the reaction was instinctive, his leg jerked, which in turn made his hips move, which increased pressure on his erection and he found himself groaning once more. She _sure_ was very good at making him produce these sorts of sounds. For her part, she was grinning. “You’re ticklish.” He had the distinct impression she was storing that information away for later uses. “But you didn’t answer my question, Marcus. Do you want me to stop?”

Her palms brushed up the back of his thighs again, stopping at the hem of the towel.

“Your choice.” he said. And he tried not to pant. He _really_ did.

“ _You_ ’re at my mercy here.” she teased. “That makes it _your_ choice.”

He propped himself on his elbow, carefully testing the waters where his back was concerned but the pain was gone so he pushed himself to a sitting position and turned around to face her. She was kneeling on the bed, looking a little disappointed and clearly embarrassed. It occurred to him she was taking _this_ as a form of rejection but he didn’t linger on it or give her time to escape. He ran his fingers through the loose ponytail and tugged gently on the end of it to get her attention.

“I’m starting to think you came here with a plan.” he teased. 

“Not really but it seemed like a good opportunity.” she shrugged. “It’s been _weeks_ in the making _._ You _can’t_ take a hint, Marcus.” She winced. “Or maybe you _can_ and I just made a fool of myself.”

“You didn’t.” he promised, brushing his fingers on her neck.

“Then why are you killing the mood?” she sighed.

“Because it’s my turn to play.” he smirked. “You can’t have _all_ the fun, Chancellor.”

He leaned in but didn’t quite kiss her yet, taunting her into making her chase after his mouth until he simply couldn’t take it anymore. The actual kiss was more brutal than he had intended it, it was hungry, _starving_ … He fought with himself to slow it down a little.

Payback was a bitch after all and she had spent almost a full hour torturing him with her hands.

She hummed against his lips when he tugged on the hair tie and she eventually untangled it from her hair herself because he was making a mess. In his defense, he was too busy kissing her to look at what he was doing. He blindly ran his fingers through her hair a few times before pushing the jacket off her shoulders. He felt her fingers fumbling with the shoelaces of her boots and she toed them off before reaching for the towel around his hips.

He wrapped his hands around hers, pushing them away.

“Oh, no.” he chuckled. “I said it’s my turn.”

There was a frantic spark of lust in her eyes. She licked her lips and leaned in again. He obliged by kissing back but he didn’t let her distract him. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head and then he nudged her down until she was on her back. He kept her there with a hand on her stomach, popping the button of her pants open with his free one. She lifted her hips when he tugged them off, impatience written all over her face.

He took a moment to _look_ at her.

The matching black bra and panties were plain but he honestly believed she would have made _everything_ look sexy and he found his mouth parched. Parts of him were throbbing with the urge to just _claim_ her but that would have been too easy by far.

He slowly crawled over her, making sure not to lay his weight on her. _Not yet_. He lowered his mouth to her neck, licking only to nip and was rewarded with a loud moan. Her hands roamed on his back and he enjoyed it for a moment until they grabbed the towel again.

“Fair is fair.” he chided her, gently but firmly guiding her arms back down. “I didn’t get to touch. You don’t get to either.”

“Marcus.” she growled in obvious frustration.

“I’ve got handcuffs somewhere in here. Don’t make me look for them.” he joked, squeezing her wrists before letting go.

“See… I _knew_ you liked handcuffing me.” she joked.

He didn’t let the clouds of the past dampening the moment. She hadn’t meant it in a reproachful way and it had been so long since the Ark… It felt like a lifetime ago.

“It’s the only way to make sure you don’t get in trouble.” he snorted against her skin, leaving a trail of kisses down her collarbone.

“So if I touch you again, I’m in trouble?” She was out of breath and that pleased him greatly. “What kind of trouble?”

“Well… I might decide I don’t want to make you come after all.” He pretended to hesitate before nuzzling the swell of her breast and _fuck_ wasn’t she _glorious_. Guessing what he wanted, she arched her back long enough that he could unclasp her bra.

“We can’t have that.” she laughed.

“It _would_   be a shame.” he agreed, licking his lips, taking in the sight of her, before bowing his head to suck her hard nipple in his mouth.

“ _Marcus_.” she hissed.

He glanced up at her face but decided it was the good kind of hiss and so he started playing with her, his mouth on a breast, his hand on the other, tasting, toying, _learning_ … He alternated between mouth and fingers for a while, switching breasts, watching her cheeks and her cleavage become more and more flushed with each passing second. Honestly, he could have done that all night but when she started to pant a little too much, he regretfully abandoned her chest to continue his exploration, dropping kisses down her stomach.

His tongue poked at her navel and then he captured the waistband on her panties between his teeth and pulled it down. She lifted her hips and helped him push the fabric down when it got stuck. He nudged her legs apart, pressing long kisses against her inner thigh and tried to get comfortable on his stomach – which wasn’t exactly _easy_ with him being so hard.

She propped herself on her elbows and flashed him a devilish smile when their eyes met. “You said I couldn’t _touch_ not that I couldn’t _watch_.”

His only answer was to lick her right where she was hot and wet. When he started sucking, she flopped down on her back with a helpless whimper and pressed her hands against her face.

“Okay?” he asked between two open kisses, just to make sure. He brushed her with a finger and she wriggled her hips closer to his face.

“I need more.” she begged. “Please, please, _please_ …”

He obliged. It didn’t take long for him to get her off. She clenched around his fingers while he was still sucking on her, trying not to mind the way her thighs were wrapped around his head to the point he could barely breathe.

There were worse ways to die.

She came with a muffled sort of cry and he realized she must have been used to doing that with her daughter in the next room. The thought was sobering for a second but then she untangled her legs from around his neck and pushed him on his back. His shoulder accidentally hit the wall and one of his bruises throbbed hard in protest but he couldn’t care less because the towel was torn away from his hips at last and she straddled him once more.

She wrapped her fingers around him and it was his turn to hiss. He pressed the back of his head against the mattress, his jaw clenched, fighting not to embarrass himself with every stroke she gave him.

“Abby… I can’t…” he half-demanded and half-begged. “I need…”

“I’ve got you.” she promised and he believed her, completely and fully believed her.

She sank on him impossibly slowly and his mind was already too far gone but he understood it was partly due to her teasing nature and partly due to the fact it had been a while and she needed to adjust. Her hands were on his stomach and they clenched once he was buried in her to the hilt. Her nails scratched his skin, they were covered in sweat and it stung where she accidentally clawed at him.

She reached for his shoulder and he couldn’t take being so far away from her anymore. He wanted to hold her. He wanted her flushed tight against him. He pushed himself up until their chests were pressed together and captured her lips, swallowing her moan at the change of angle.

His hands ran down her sides and found her hips, giving a nudge so she would _move_. She chuckled against his mouth but she _did_ start to rock and he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, regularly bowing his head to suck at a breast that was bobbing up and down in front of him.

She was _very good_ at taking him right up to the edge of pleasure only to slow down and pick up the pace again. He sneaked his hand between them, paying her back in kind by working her up and never helping her go _that little bit further_.

He didn’t know how long they tortured each other like that. Time had no meaning and it was irrelevant. His world had narrowed down to _her_.

“I can’t take it anymore…” she almost sobbed in his ear at some point. “Finish me… _Finish me_ , Marcus…”

It was his name on her lips that truly made the trick. He flicked his thumb against her clit and this time there was no muffling her scream when she came. It was equal part pleasure and relief. It only took two more thrusts for him to come, chanting her name against her collarbone.

They swayed for a second, too exhausted and blinded by bliss to remain upward, and then he flopped on his back and she fell on him, knocking the air out of his lungs.

For some reason, it made him laugh. It was almost a hysterical sort of laugh but it was also a _happy_ one. He was covered in sweat, she was trembling from the aftershock in his arms but not making any attempt at rolling off him and he was _happy_.

Eventually, she stopped trembling and she allowed him to slip out of her only to settle right back down on his chest. She pressed a kiss against his heart.

“How’s your back?” she asked with genuine concern.

“It’s fine.” he smiled, brushing her long hair away from her face. “It’s going to hurt a lot more often if that’s what I get when I have a backache.”

She shook her head at him with fondness and pressed another kiss on his skin, a teasing grin on her lips. “I might let you try the handcuffs next time.”

He grinned back, happy to know there _would_ be a next time.


	20. Damaged But Not Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I wrote this yesterday night before the episode so… It’s kind of Au-ish I guess? Anyway, it’s a post chip thing because I needed it :p

She’s heading to the dining hall for some food or maybe a drink when she spies her daughter sitting alone by one of the campfires. She hesitates. It fills her with shame to be so cautious around Clarke, almost weary of her in ways she isn’t weary of anyone else. She fears her a little. Not because she is Wanheda, Commander of Death, and unofficial leader to the youngest generation of Skaikru but because there is still so much left unsaid between them, Abby is often scared it will blow up at some point.

Clarke looks sad. Her legs are hugged close to her chest, her chin propped on her knees and she’s staring in the distance. Abby follows her gaze to another campfire around which a few other kids are fooling around, laughing and teasing each other. She spots Raven waving her cup around, Monty and Harper whispering with their heads close together, Jasper regularly nudging Raven’s shoulder with his own, Nathan with his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders… But somehow, Abby knows _who_ Clarke is watching. Because Bellamy is sitting between Jasper and Monty, a cup trapped between his hands and a small smile on his lips, apparently enthralled by whatever Raven is saying.

Clarke is very much staring right until she presses her cheek against her knee and unfold her legs to grab her bag and rummage in it. She brushes the back of her hand against her cheek next and Abby realizes she is wiping tears just at the moment she takes a leather notebook out of her bag.

And just like that Abby isn’t hesitating anymore because there is something she has never been able to ignore and that’s her daughter’s tears.

Clarke doesn’t look up when she sits down next to her, she’s now staring at an unfinished drawing of a sleeping Lexa.

Abby remains silent for a while, watching the nightly routine of Arkadia. Pike, Jaha and ALIE left marks behind them, like scars that refuse to heal. The camp isn’t what it used to be after Mount Weather, it isn’t as joyful, not as hopeful… Sometimes Abby thinks they’re _tarnished_.

Her eyes are attracted to the two people talking quietly near the main gates. Of course. Her eyes always find him wherever he stands. Lately she just lacks the courage to _talk_ to him. She has become an expert in the art of avoiding the Chancellor since the chip stopped controlling her. What she did to him… She _can’t_ face it. She knows what he will say if she lets him and she is not ready to hear the assurances he doesn’t hold her accountable for her actions. She can’t stomach to hear she isn’t responsible.

It wasn’t truly her who tried to manipulate him, to _trick him_. It wasn’t truly her who watched him being crucified without batting an eyelash, without even a care in the world… Of course, it wasn’t.

It doesn’t make it any easier to accept the fresh scars on his hand.

It doesn’t make it any easier to accept he was tortured and she stood there absolutely indifferent.

Guilt twists her guts every time she looks at him. Guilt and sorrow and _anger_ because he doesn’t blame her and he _should_.

“She’s doing better.” Clarke says quietly.

Abby’s eyes dart back to her daughter. “Who?”

“Octavia.” Clarke frowns, nodding at the gates where Octavia stands in front of Marcus, waving her hands as she explains something. “She’s… _grieving_ , I guess. Lincoln… She’s putting him to rest.”

Octavia shadows Marcus a lot when she’s not in Polis, Abby knows. It used to be Bellamy tagging after him. Before Pike. Before Jaha.

“It’s natural.” she offers. “She will find someone else eventually. Fall in love again.”

She hopes so for the girl’s sake at least. Octavia deserves love. She doesn’t doubt Aurora loved her daughter but growing up a dirty secret hidden under the floor left holes in her life. Octavia needs to be loved, she _deserves_ to be loved. She needs to find a way to _belong_.

On some level, Abby understands that only too well.

“You make it sound so easy.” Clarke snorts.

There’s an accusation in there. Not completely voiced but loaded with intent. Abby doesn’t miss the way her daughter’s gaze falls on Marcus but she pretends not to see. Ideally, there should have been a calm conversation about that, about whatever it is they are doing and how it doesn’t affect Clarke or what she feels for Clarke or what she used to feel for Jake but… It feels unnecessary now.

She doesn’t want to say it aloud and she runs from the thought every time it comes up but she fears Jaha and ALIE have killed _them_.

It has been three weeks since they destroyed the A.I. Marcus looks at her across rooms, across the yard and across the dining hall but he doesn’t come over. He tried in the few days after, he was relentless in trying to get her alone, to _talk_ but it was easy to avoid him then and it is easy to avoid him now. She thinks he stopped trying because he is waiting for her to come to him.

_Wake up, Abby_ , his voice echoes in her nightmares and she wishes she could, she _truly_ wishes she could.

She’s not sure there’s any waking up from this.

“It’s not.” she answers calmly, refusing to bite to her bait. “And it’s painful. It will _always_ be painful. But the pain dulls with time. It is human to love, Clarke, and there is no shame in seeking it.”

She glances at Bellamy to find the boy not longer listening to Raven. The others are still laughing but Bellamy is staring at Clarke, lost in thoughts. Clarke looks up, their eyes meet and Abby _sees_ it. She sees it clear as day. The bond is deep and solid and it’s not just friendship, it’s more than that, so much more… It’s the love you can only find in someone you have been to hell with. It’s a love she recognizes only too well.

Her daughter jerks a little and looks back down at her drawing.

“Falling in love with someone else doesn’t mean you’re betraying her.” Abby whispers.

“It’s not that.” Clarke shrugs and a tears falls on the page, leaving a blob on Lexa’s hand. “Well, maybe it’s that a little… I thought I was in love with Finn but _this_ … _Lexa_ , it was…”

“Powerful. I know.” she smiles, reaching out for her hand. “I noticed.” Clarke lets her hold her hand for a total of thirty seconds before gently untangling her fingers and placing her notebook back in her bag. Abby clears her throat and folds her hands back on her lap, hiding her disappointment at a rejection that isn’t completely conscious but still hurts deeply. “I loved your dad the moment I saw him. I denied it, you know… He was always saying we were love at first sight and I always mocked him for it because… It sounds so _silly_ …” Her lips stretch at the memories of their private jokes and their playful arguing long into the night about who loved the other first. “But it _was_. Love at first sight. Easy. _Pure_. Innocent.”

“Pure and innocent don’t survive long.” Clarke snorts, her voice hard. “Finn was like that. _Pure_. I killed him. Like you killed Dad.”

She flinches.

The words hurt. Of course they do.

It is nothing she hasn’t accepted long ago. She killed Jake. She didn’t press the button but she might as well have because she betrayed him and that resulted in his death. There is a bigger picture and there are more actors to that story than just her making a decision but the simple version works too.

To Clarke, she would always be the person who betrayed her father.

“You did what you thought was best.” she counters. “You were trying to be kind, to protect him.”

“So were you. I guess.” her daughter says and it’s the first concession on the subject she ever made so Abby closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Lexa died because of me too. If had left like Titus wanted… If…”

“ _You_ didn’t kill her.” she frowns. “Don’t feel guilty for…”

“She’s still dead.” Clarke cuts her off. “There’s a pattern here. I guess that’s what you get when you fall in love with _Wanheda._ I bring death.”

The girl looks in Bellamy’s direction once more only to avert her eyes when she realizes he is still watching her. It wouldn’t take much to make the boy cross the distance between the two campfires, Abby muses, a simple wave would be enough.

“That’s not true.” she says firmly. “And to be honest, I think Bellamy proved he can take care of himself.”

Clarke’s sulk is familiar and Abby is reminded of the little girl who would sometimes stomp her foot because she couldn’t get her way. She misses this little girl very much.

“I never said…” she starts.

“You don’t need to.” Abby interrupts, rolling her eyes. “I know you.”

“Do you?” Clarke retorts and that, too, hurts. It’s unwarranted and her daughter winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean… I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“I think you should go over there and talk to him.” she says. “I think you should… take a leap of faith.”

The sulk deepens and Abby almost smiles because _this is so painfully familiar_. She almost expects to hear Jake’s voice in the background warning their kid that her face might get stuck and that she would have to walk around looking funny.

“Why aren’t you taking your own advice, Mom?” There is no heat or reproach in Clarke’s voice, only open curiosity. “Because if he stares any harder you’re going to catch fire.”

It’s her turn to look up and it’s her turn to find Marcus watching her. He’s leaning against the fence, listening to Octavia but his eyes are riveted on _her_. She licks her lips and turns her head away. “That’s a completely different situation.”

“Really?” Clarke mocks, almost sounding amused. “That’s not what Octavia says.”

She should have known. Kids _talk_. 

She picks up a pebble and turns it around in her hand distractedly. “What did Octavia tell you?”

She’s embarrassed and ill-at-ease. There are things she is not comfortable sharing with Clarke. Things that belong to the _woman_ and not to the _mother_.

“She said you two made out hard core when they left camp.” Clarke states bluntly. “Raven thinks it’s been going on for a while but Bellamy and Monty disagree. Harper and Nathan say you lost it bad when Kane was arrested. Jasper thought you were together and it wasn’t even a question. _And_ Kane is pretty much rocking the lovesick kicked puppy look.”

That’s more thorough than what she was expecting. “Don’t you have anything else to do than talk about me and Marcus?”

“Arkadia is boring, Mom.” She rolls her eyes and, for a second, she actually _looks_ like a teenager. “You can’t stop people from gossiping.”

Life in Arkadia is far from being boring to her but she supposes after the kind of adventures her daughter has been through that’s what _peaceful_ would look like to her: _boring_.

“Well, Octavia exaggerates.” Her jaws clenches a little “And there’s nothing to gossip about.”

There’s something definitive to her tone but that has never stopped Clarke before.

“I heard he took the chip to protect you.”

She closes her eyes and swallows hard before studying her daughter’s face. “He would have done the same for anyone else.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.” Clarke comments. “But is that why you’re avoiding him? Because you’ve been pretty miserable for the last three weeks and he’s miserable and everyone’s gossiping about how miserable you two are. And it’s starting to be disturbing to hear everyone speculate about the two of you everywhere I go.”

“We were talking about _you_ and _Bellamy_.” Abby sighs.

“And now we’re talking about you and Kane.” Clarke shrugs.

“Clarke.” she warns.

“Mom.” her daughter answers on the same tone before shrugging again. “Look, if you’re holding back because of me… _Don’t_. I know you loved Dad. I know you’re not trying to _replace_ him. And I like Kane. He’s alright. And I would have to be _blind_ not to see he’s hopelessly in love with you so… I’m good with it. You’ve got my blessing if that’s what you need.”

She’s a little flabbergasted by that speech and not entirely sure what to answer to that. She’s more amused than anything truthfully. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Clarke smiles. “Now go talk to him.”

“It’s not that simple.” she argues.

“Actually, yes it is.” the girl replies. “Do you love him?”

Abby opens her mouth to tell her she’s not going to talk about _that_ with _her daughter_ and then closes it again because… Doesn’t Clarke have a right to know? “I… do. Yes.”

“Great.” Clarke deadpans. “Now go over there and tell him and _don’t_ under _any_ circumstances bring him back to our room. I don’t need that kind of trauma.”

Her daughter’s cheeks are crimson and Abby feels herself blushing too and she can’t blame the fire.

“I hurt him.” she confesses softly. “And I _let them_ hurt him.”

“And he _still_ took the chip for you and he doesn’t blame you.” Clarke remarks. “That’s not a reason from hiding from him, that’s an _excuse_. So you can sit here like a coward or you can be brave and finally face him.”

“You’re sitting here too.” she points out, annoyed to find her daughter has a point. When has Clarke become so wise?

Clarke’s only answer is to stand up and pick up her bag before joining the others around their fire, leaving Abby alone with her thoughts. She watches her daughter for a moment, watches her smile at a joke from Raven and sit closer to Bellamy than mere friends would…

She’s slow in standing up.

She’s slow in turning to where she saw him last.

Octavia is gone but he is still here, still leaning against the fence and still looking at her.

His eyes widen when she makes her way toward him and he stands straighter when she stops next to him.

“You’re staring.” she remarks.

“I’m keeping track of you.” he jokes but it sounds flat.

There are bags under his eyes and longing in his gaze.

She intended to offer for them to talk but he looks so lost and pained that she finds herself cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing against his lips.

“I’m sorry.” she whispers. “For everything. I’m sorry.”

Relief washes over his face as he tentatively covers her hand with his. “I’m not angry with you. I don’t _blame_ you. Abby, I’ve never…”

“I know.” she cuts him off. “But _I_ do.”

“I miss you.” He sounds pleading and she closes her eyes. “Don’t let them win. Don’t let them break us.”

“What if we’re already broken?” she asks.

“We’re not.” he promises. “We’re a bit damaged but we’re not broken.”

_A bit damaged but not broken…_

She thinks she can live with that.


	21. Five Times Abby Griffin was obsessed with Marcus Kane’s hair and one time he called her out on it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the last episode, an anon required fluff and I actually wanted fluff myself and thus this was born. You can all oooh and aaaah about my Trigedasleng because it took me an hour to get a simple sentence together (joking – about the oohing and aaahing not the fact it took me an hour).

* * *

 

**1**

* * *

 

Abby looked up from the boxes she was sorting when she heard the familiar sound of his footsteps and bit her cheek to stop herself from laughing. It wouldn’t do to laugh when he had gone to the trouble of tracking her down to a supply closet and _yet_ it was almost impossible to stop herself.

Marcus took one look at her and rolled his eyes but his lips twitched with amusement.

“It’s really not _that_ funny.”

That was a matter of opinion, she thought. She had grown used to teams coming back to Arkadia in various states, from injured to sick, but watching Bellamy, Octavia and Miller walking through the gates holding their stomachs because they were laughing _so hard_ had been a first. Abby had been on her way back to Medical and she had stopped, eyebrows furrowed together until she had spotted Marcus, unhappily trailing after the kids, covered from head to toes in a slimy brown substance.

Mudslide that led directly into a mud pond, Octavia had explained between two hiccups.

None of the kids had been able to look at him without doubling over. Apparently there had been some panicking on his part when he had found himself in the pond because he had thought it was quick sand instead of a two feet deep sticky mud hole. According to Bellamy there had been an undignified _shriek_ – Marcus had vividly denied, dripping mud everywhere and glaring at everyone. Unfortunately, his glares had lost most of their power on the kids. They didn’t fear him anymore.

“Sorry.” she grinned, standing up from her crouch next to the shelf to face him. He had obviously taken a shower but there were still things caught in his hair.

“You’re _not_ sorry.” he accused without any heat. “You’re mocking me.”

She shook her head at him and walked closer to take the twig and what she suspected to be pieces of broken leaves out of his hair.

“You have to admit it _is_ a little funny though.” she teased, trying not to notice he was watching her like a hawk. She was standing very close to him, one step further and she would have been pressed against his chest.

“I didn’t _shriek_.” he grumbled. “I may have _screamed_ but I didn’t _shriek_.”

His hair was still slightly damp from his shower and she thought she had all the twigs and bits and pieces of leaves out but she kept running her fingers through the thick mane a few more times just because she could.

“I’m sure it was very manly.” she chuckled.

“Maybe it _was_ a little funny.” He shrugged, amusement dancing on his features. “Abby?”

“Yeah?” she hummed distractedly, brushing dark strands back with both hands.

“Do you want me to jump into another mud pond so that you can have a real excuse to pet my hair?” he smirked, eyes sparkling in mischief.

She took her hands away, cheeks flushed, and stuttering. “You have stuff in it, I’m just helping you picking it out.”

“You haven’t picked out anything in at least five minutes but I’ll pretend I believe you.” he mocked her gently. “Now _that_ ’s funny.”

“No it’s not.” Abby muttered, fighting to keep a smile off her lips as he started laughing at her.

* * *

 

**2**

* * *

 

There was an odd buzz in the dining hall when Abby came in, looking for some company and a drink. She spotted the guard sitting on the chair not far from the new bar first, and then Gina who was waving scissors around his head next. Raven was sitting at an empty table, tinkering with a tablet and Abby joined her, still watching curiously at the unusual amount of guys leaning against the bar or sitting in groups not too far from Gina and her scissors.

“What’s going on?” she asked Raven, sitting down next to her.

The young woman glanced up at her and then at Gina, letting out a round of chuckles. “Jasper cut his hair and it was a disaster so Gina tried to make him look less like a madman. Then she decided Bellamy needed a haircut and after that… Well, guys started showing up. I think Kane’s next.”

“What?” Abby frowned, alarmed.

Raven shot her a knowing look, a smirk on her lips and nodded at another table in the corner where Marcus was sitting reviewing files. She probably should have commented on the smirk because it wouldn’t do to encourage this sort of rumors and Raven had a lot of – _unfounded_ – ideas about what was going on between them – or about what Abby _should_ do in any case, there was no stopping her from talking after a few drinks – but this was an _emergency_.

She pretended she didn’t notice Raven’s laughter following her as she hurried to his table. He looked surprised to find her there but the surprise quickly morphed into a welcoming smile.

“You can’t get a haircut.” she said outright. “Chancellor orders.”

She knew him. He would revert back to the strict style he had adopted on the Ark if only because it was practical and neat and… _No_. There was _something_ to his too long hair that made her stomach twist in very pleasant ways. It was the perfect length to tangle fingers in and she found she _liked_ the idea of _that_ way too much.

He frowned and opened his mouth and then closed it and lifted his eyebrows. “Alright.”

“Alright.” she repeated. She cleared her throat. “ _Alright_ , well… I will see you later.”

“For dinner?” he offered.

“For dinner.” she confirmed and then ran away as fast as she could without _actually_ running.

* * *

 

**3**

* * *

 

Madness had finally receded and Medical was almost peaceful now, aside for a few scattered whimpers and moans.

Functioning on too short naps, an empty stomach and too much tea, Abby roamed between the beds, letting her eyes trail on her patients. She briefly stopped to pull the blanket higher on Jackson who had finally crashed four hours ago after dutifully following her for the last week.

She was about to go track down Lincoln and Octavia to see if they could get more medicinal plants when her wrist was grabbed in a surprisingly tight grip. She gasped in alarm because even though she _knew_ she was safe in Arkadia, she had thought she was alone with sleeping bodies.

She looked down to find Marcus watching her with glassy eyes from his cot. He was still pale and his skin still looked a little clammy.

“Hey.” she smiled softly, quickly checking his vitals before sitting down on the edge of his bed.

He didn’t let go of her wrist.

“What happened?” he croaked out.

She gently uncurled his fingers from her forearm and reached for one of the glasses of water she had left in easy reach from every bed. She helped him sip from it – which wasn’t exactly an easy task because he couldn’t quite sit up. Some water trickled down his chin and got lost in his beard. She wiped it with her sleeve.

“Flu.” she explained. “I think we managed to contain it before it turned into a large scale thing. We haven’t had a new patient in a few hours.” The way he was looking at her made her think she might as well have been speaking in Trigedasleng. She put the glass of water down with a sigh and placed the back of her hand on his cheek and then his forehead. “Your fever isn’t as high, that’s good. We will have you back up on your feet in no time.”

There was no question he was _still_ feverish though. His skin was hot to the touch, his eyes were too bright and there were beads of perspiration on his forehead. She checked the chart but he wasn’t due for his next dose of meds yet. 

“Abby…” he mumbled. “You’re so _beautiful_ …”

She chuckled. “I haven’t showered in a week, I don’t remember the last time I brushed my hair, people keep throwing up on me and I think I will have to _burn_ these clothes when I’m done here… I am at my _best_ right now.” He blinked, his eyelids slow and heavy, apparently unable to understand what she was saying and she found herself smiling down at him with fondness. “Go to sleep, Marcus. You will feel better when you wake up.”

“Stay?” he pleaded.

“Of course.” she agreed easily, reaching out to brush his hair back from his face. He closed his eyes and leaned into her hand so she kept petting his hair. It was a little damp with sweat but it was still soft to the touch.

She kept running her fingers through it long after he had succumbed to sleep.

* * *

 

**4**

* * *

 

Marcus had made it a habit of keeping track of her sleeping schedule. According to him, he couldn’t trust her to get the rest she needed. Truth be told, there wasn’t much rest to be had when you were both Chancellor and doctor. Most of her evenings were spent in the war room, studying reports and files or discussing how they could improve life in camp.

Marcus was there with her every evening when he wasn’t on duty and there was probably something to be said about a pot calling a kettle black, Abby mused as she watched his chest rising and falling regularly. His head had fallen on the back of the couch around ten minutes earlier and he was now soundlessly asleep.

She picked up the forgotten data pad from his lap and put it safely on the floor with the rest of the reports. She made a note to find a blanket to leave on the couch. One of them if not both always ended up spending the night in the war room after all…

She went back to her – oh so _not_ fascinating – reading, jotting down notes for the next Council meeting.

Marcus shifted and his head landed on her shoulder. She sat very still. It wasn’t particularly chilly in the room but it was cold enough that he let out a pleased hum at her warmth and shifted closer, reaching out in his sleep, overbalancing, and almost rolling off the couch entirely. She held him back by the back of his pants at the very last moment, thinking it would be enough to wake him up but apparently not. She hauled him back up and he ended up with the lower half of his body on the couch and the rest very much _on her lap_. She tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder and he breathed out a content sigh. His hand curled around her knee.

She glanced at the open door and prayed that it was late enough nobody would come seek either of them. She wasn’t sure how people would react if they found Councilman Kane sprawled on Chancellor Griffin’s lap.

She propped the report on his back so she could keep reading without having to hold it, leaning back against the couch a little. She didn’t know how her fingers ended up in his hair. When his hair was concerned, her hands seemed to have a will of their own. It was like an odd distorted gravity. If it was within reach, she yearned to touch and tug and brush.

The truth was that she fought sleep as much as she could because her nights were plagued with nightmares. Sometimes though… Sometimes she had good dreams. And lately all those good dreams involved her hand in his hair guiding his head into a kiss or something much more intimate…

There were a few silver strands here and there in the dark mane and she found herself imagining how he would look like as an old man. Somehow when she pictured it, an older version of herself was standing right next to him. She liked the thought. It was somehow comforting.

He jerked awake around three a.m., lifting his upper body a little before dropping back on her legs with a long sigh. She had long abandoned reading reports and had been dozing off, her head cushioned on her arm, slightly turned on her side so she could use the back of the couch as a pillow.

He rubbed his face and she felt the precise moment he realized _where_ he was because his whole body tensed.

“It’s fine.” she mumbled sleepily. She reached out to run her fingers through his hair again because it was soothing and it had always helped Clarke when she was still a kid and she had had nightmares. “Go back to sleep.”

But instead of doing that he sat up and she let out a long whine of protest at the loss of contact, of _warmth_. She was half asleep and even though a part of her brain was telling her she had no right to resent his retreat, she did all the same because the sleepy part of her just wanted to remain close to his reassuring presence.

Of course, that part of her settled down when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gently guided her down. She had no more access to his hair but his chest was a nicer pillow than her arm and so she didn’t complain.

She was out in a matter of seconds.

* * *

 

**5**

* * *

 

They had been in a desperate need of a party.

Parties were rare things on the Ark but down there on the ground it was easier to find reasons to celebrate and thus when the first snowflakes dropped out of the sky, Chancellor Griffin gave in to the general call for a winter party. Not that she had any choice in the matter, Gina had already started organizing the moonshine Monty was supplying and Raven had hooked a sound system to the camp’s emergency speakers.

That was how she came to lean against the metallic outer wall of the station, watching her people having fun with the thin coat of snow covering some uneven patches of the ground. She was hoping the snow they were so excited about wouldn’t become something to fear very soon. Weather had been on their side since they had landed but _winter_ … Winter was a frightening word for the Chancellor, one she and Marcus had tried their best to anticipate by piling food in their stocks and collecting wood.

The Grounders survived it and Indra had assuaged their fear with a noncommittal shrug and a ‘ _Chit sounda kom na kom_ ’ that hadn’t contributed in making Abby more at ease, even more so once Marcus had discreetly translated it for her. _What must happen will happen._

And there was Clarke to consider… Clarke who was all alone in the wild and whom she wasn’t sure she could trust to do the smart thing and come home if the weather became too cold…

“Stop brooding.”

She looked up at Marcus, her lips automatically stretching into a smile as was now the norm when he sought her out like that. She had to admit there was something almost _magical_ about snowflakes, all the more so when they caught in his eyelashes, his hair and the collar of his jacket. He was just as excited about the first sign of snow as the kids – although _cautiously_ so – and it was… endearing. Everything about Marcus was endearing lately.

“I’m not _brooding_.” she lied, accepting the metallic cup of moonshine he handed her while taking a sip of his own.

“You’re not having fun either.” he pointed out. “This is a party. You’re _supposed_ to have fun. I know we’re old – Raven’s words, not mine – but we can still have fun at parties, Abby.”

She had to fight to keep herself from grinning like an idiot. “Did you _ever_ have fun at any party, Marcus? Because if I remember right…”

“I’m turning a new leaf, haven’t you noticed?” he chuckled, leaning his back against the station right next to her and growing a little more serious. “We’ll be fine.” 

“ _Chit sounda kom na kom_?” she snorted without any amusement.

“ _Kom strik hof_.” he answered and at her blank face translated “With a little hope. You really need to get a hand on your Trigedasleng.”

“Everyone can’t be a natural at it.” she pointed out because he had taken to the language as if it was _easy_ when she struggled with the simplest sentence. Octavia had tried, Lincoln had tried, Marcus had tried… She was starting to feel like a lost cause on the language front. “It’s good to see them happy.”

She nodded at the kids who were dancing to the music the speakers were blaring, having fun like she hadn’t seen them have fun since Mount Weather. A few adults had joined in the dancing but most of them were having their own party on their side of the yard, sharing booze and stories.

“Do you want to dance?” he offered and she almost choked on her sip of moonshine. “We could go right next to Bellamy and Octavia. Embarrass them.”

She shook her head, the laughter bubbling out of her throat without warning. “It’s _us_ we would embarrass. How do you even dance to _that_?”

She was reluctant to call it _music_.

“I don’t know.” he shrugged, a smile stretching his lips. “That’s half the fun, isn’t it?”

It was something she had never thought she would heard _Marcus Kane_ say. Never _ever_.

He was watching her with open fondness, obviously enjoying her amusement and she found herself smiling back impossibly softly. She reached out to brush the snowflakes out of his hair, stepping a little in his space to do so and barely noticing. She was doing it too much lately to notice it. It seemed natural to gravitate around him, they were co-leading a camp full of people. And also…

Well… She could never resist an opportunity to run her fingers through his hair.

“There are some in yours too.” he said, tentatively gathering her ponytail in his gloved hand and letting it stream through his fingers.

She wondered how they must have looked like to anyone else, standing there, touching each other’s hair… Deep down, she _knew_ what they looked like. She didn’t even care, perhaps because it was a little bit true.

For every snowflake she brushed away, two more replaced it. She focused on that hopeless fight for a while, if only because it gave her an excuse to _touch_. It was only after ten minutes that she realized Marcus was watching her with a telling spark in his dark eyes.

It wouldn’t have taken much for him to lean in, she thought, a simple sign on her part that it would be welcomed and the only reason she didn’t give it was that the rest of the camp was around them, maybe not watching but certainly looking at them from time to time. They were in plain sight and it wasn’t how she wanted this to go.

“Stop looking at me like that.” she chided him, biting down on her bottom lip to fight her smile. Perhaps it was unfair to request that when her fingers were still in his hair. Perhaps. Probably.

“ _Yu laik meizen_.” he said, the strange syllables rolling off his tongue with an ease she envied.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

His smile was mysterious and tender when he gently coiled his hand around her wrist and brought her hand down. He squeezed once before letting go.

“That’s a lesson for another day.” he told her, bringing his cup to his lips. “Drink your moonshine.”

She settled back against the station, her shoulder pressed tight against his.

* * *

 

**6**

* * *

 

She would never get tired of the feel of his bare skin against hers. That was a fact. A defining feature of who she was. Someday, maybe, a young child would ask who Chancellor Griffin was and amongst a few other trivial details like the fact she was the second Chancellor to officiate on the ground, there would be this tiny information about how she could never get tired of the feel of the first Chancellor to officiate on the ground’s naked skin against hers.

His lips roamed on her throat, his kisses were almost lazy now. The beard tickled her a little but that only made her smile. She was utterly and completely satisfied, her body limp and heavy from the aftermath of pleasure and she tangled her fingers in his hair, bringing his head back up, his mouth on hers.

Another thing she would never get tired of? _Kissing_ _him_.

She used her grip to angle his head the way she wanted it, tugging on the thick strands when he didn’t respond as quickly as she would have liked him to. He chuckled against her lips and propped himself on his elbow, planting it next to her head to look down at her.

“You have a thing for my hair.” he accused.

“Absolutely not.” she lied with a straight face. He lifted an eyebrow, smirking, his eyes twinkling in joy and she rolled hers, unable to refrain from smiling back. How long had it been since she had felt so _happy_? “Maybe a little.”

He let out another round of chuckles as he leaned in to kiss her again.

It wasn’t just his hair though.

It was _him_.

The whole package of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yu laik meizen" actually means "you're beautiful" (at least I hope it does, as I said I'm not grounder speeech expert haha)


	22. Jealousy & Quiproquo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received an ask about writing something with Marcus being jealous of Jaha so… This was born. It’s a bit crackish but hey we all need some crack before tonight right?

Something was off.

This thing between them was still new but Abby had twenty years of marital experience up her sleeve and she knew when something was off.

Something was _definitely_ off.

It puzzled her because as far as she could tell they had been… _good_ , more than good even given what had happened during what she had taken to call the AI crisis. They had been exploring this, _them_ , for a few weeks now and it was _great_. Despite the limited time they could spare from their respective jobs, they _worked_. They were in that perfect place in a relationship where everything was still new but was starting to be familiar enough that it was comfortable and Abby loved it, she loved _everything_ about it.

Which was why she didn’t like the closed off expression on Marcus’ face. He was lying on his side with his head cushioned on his bent arm, his other arm was around her waist but the way he held her was more distracted than actually affectionate. She had been in his bed for exactly fifteen minutes and he hadn’t tried to take off her tank top or her pajama pants which was certainly a first. When she had sneaked in his room and joined him under the sheets, he had simply tossed an arm around her waist before continuing to stare in the distance.

And that was how it had been for the last fifteen minutes.

She was on her back, watching him in the semi-darkness, lightly running her nails up and down his forearm, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“What’s the problem?” she asked when she couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Please, tell me it’s not the Grounders, people in secret bunkers or another mad AI.”

He startled a little and his eyes darted to her face. “If the camp was in trouble you would be the first to know.” He said it almost reproachfully, as if she should never have suspected him of keeping secrets from her. “We’re _still_ doing this together.”

“We do a lot of things together, Chancellor Kane.” she teased, rolling on her side to face him. She slipped her arm under the sheets and sneaked her hand under his shirt, finding the warm skin of his side. 

For the first time that night, his face relaxed and a playful smile stretched his lips. “And I love every single one of these things, Doctor Griffin.”

It would have been easy to lean in and kiss him, to distract him from his dark mood and coax him into more pleasurable activities. It would have been easy but neither Abby nor him had ever done anything because it was _easy_.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked quietly.

He studied her and then licked his lips, averting his eyes. “I want to say something… But… I’m not sure we’re in a place where I can say it.”

He looked nervous all of sudden, the kind of endearing nervousness that made him look years younger. Abby smiled at him, her thumb tracing soothing circles on his side. She had a good idea of what he wanted to say and she didn’t mind saying it first. There was no hesitation in her voice, no room for embarrassment or second-guessing, they were long past that and the fact that those words hadn’t been shared yet was a bit ridiculous.

“I love you.” she whispered like a gift.

His eyes shot back to hers, his lips parted in surprise and she had the very sudden, very terrible feeling she had read the whole situation wrong.

“Oh _god_.” she groaned after a minute of excruciating silence on his part. “And here I was thinking to myself there was _no risk_ of that being embarrassing…”

“No, no, no!” he rushed out, brushing her hair back to cup her cheek. “No, don’t be. I was just surprised. I love you too. _Of course,_ I love you, Abby.”

He wasn’t lying, she _knew_ he wasn’t lying but something was still being left out. She let him kiss her, she let him push her on the her back but when he grabbed the hem of her top she drew back from the kiss and tangled her fingers in his hair to stop him from nuzzling her neck – there was _no_ resisting him when he started nuzzling her neck.

“Since you clearly weren’t about to share your feelings for me… What did you want to say?” she asked, more amused than angry.

He winced. “Forget it, it’s not important.” He tried to kiss her again but she had a firm grip on his hair and she avoided his mouth easily, shooting him _a look_. The wincing turned to a pleading expression. “I’m not going to say _that_ right after you told me you love me. I will sound like an ass.”

“You _often_ sound like an ass, Marcus, it’s one of your endearing flaws.” she grinned. It didn’t sound good though, whatever he wanted to say. And something had definitely been off before. However he _loved_ her so it couldn’t be _that_ bad. There were cricks to work out in every relationship, compromises to be made… She knew he was annoyed by her tendency to leave toothpaste traces in the sink. Maybe it was just about something stupid like that. “Come on, tell me.”

He hesitated and it was obvious to her he was having a heavy debate with himself. In the end, he settled back on his side again, closer than before, and distractedly retraced the hem of her tank top with his fingers. “Just… Don’t get angry, alright? I know it’s not reciprocated and it’s not your fault but it just makes me… I’m not _jealous_ , it’s not _that_. You have never given me any reason to be jealous and I’m not angry with you. But I guess I am a bit… _territorial_.”

He was watching her with apprehension and all she could do was blink in complete confusion. For a second, she felt dread at the thought he could be talking about Jake but it didn’t make any sense.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” she confessed.

He frowned a little before amusement and fondness battled on his features. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” she shrugged, starting to feel annoyance creeping in. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled. He chuckled and then rubbed his face and she punched him in the shoulder because it looked a lot like he was mocking her.

“Sorry.” he breathed out, not sounding sorry at all. “Sorry…” He wrapped his arm around her waist again and drew her closer to drop a kiss on her shoulder. “I love you.”

She didn’t think she would ever get tired of hearing that. His mouth trailed up to her neck but she refused to be so easily distracted so she pushed on his shoulder a little. “Explain yourself. Why would you be _jealous_?”

“Territorial.” he corrected, sounding embarrassed.

“Semantics.” she deadpanned, not in a mood to humor him.

He let his head flop on the pillow with a long pained sigh and then chanced a glance at her. “I hate the way Jaha looks at you.”

Again, she found herself blinking.

“Jaha.” she repeated. “ _Thelonious_ Jaha. The man we may or may not be expecting a coup from?”

It had taken a while for Jaha to recover from his City of Light misadventure but it hadn’t taken half as long for his interest in power to manifest. When he wasn’t trying to win Marcus’ ear, he was not so subtly reminding everyone of his time as Chancellor.

“He wants you.” Marcus said plainly.

“You’re crazy.” she scoffed.

“It’s _obvious_ , Abby.” he insisted. “It was already obvious back on the Ark.” She opened her mouth to protest but he rolled his eyes before she could. “I’m telling you he _does_. I don’t know if he’s in love with you or if it’s just…” He stopped and shrugged. “Every time you turn your back to him or you look away he has that _look_ of _yearning_ on his face… It makes me want to punch him. Hard. I know you’re not going to like it and I’m sorry but it _does_.”

She chose to push aside any thought of Jaha having more than friendly feelings for her because it was disturbing. She smirked instead, hooking a leg over his. “As long as you don’t _actually_ punch people… I don’t mind you being _territorial_.”

“No?” he smirked right back, curling his hand under her knee and tugging until she was straddling him.

She lied down on his chest, tucking her head under his chin, and pressed a kiss against his pulse point. “Not if it means I belong to you. I like the idea of belonging to you. As long as you belong to me too…”

“Is that even a question?” he snorted.

 “I think we should test it.” she grinned, letting her hand trail south.

She rather liked the territorial idea.


	23. The Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooook so I obviously needed to write something after the finale so yeah… here it is. I hope you like it.

Abby wakes up with a gasp. She’s already sitting, already reaching for an invisible noose around her neck when she opens her eyes. It takes long minutes for her breathing to even out, for the terrible images of what her own hands have inflicted to people she loves to recede. Next to her, under the pile of furs, Clarke is still asleep, her body recovering from the ordeal.

The Commander’s room is dark. Everything is quiet, the night not yet at an end.

She brings her shaky hands to her face and swallows back the tears. It’s too dark for her to glimpse the marks on her daughter’s chest, the marks _she_ inflicted. It’s too dark for her to chase away the dread and anxiety curling in her stomach. Memories are swirling in her head, always, _always_ coming back to a cross and the man nailed on it.

Her hands fall on her lap. She’s shivering, either in shock or exhaustion it’s hard to say. She helped as much as she could before finally giving up and collapsing in bed next to her daughter. She mended and bandaged and disinfected until her hands cramped and her head spun, until Bellamy caught her when she stumbled and herded her to where Clarke was resting.

So much happened in so little time her head is still spinning. _Six months to live_. The words are insidious and terrifying yet distant. A problem for another day. Right now, all she can think about is pain. The pain she inflicted. The pain she is in.

Clarke doesn’t stir when she gets out of bed and for a terrible moment Abby is afraid of what her stillness means. But when she brushes her dirty hair back, her daughter lets out a sigh and turns on her side. She closes her eyes in relief, presses a kiss on her forehead and she goes in search.

Nothing feels real.

She doesn’t know if it’s a consequence of being in the City of Light for so long. It was peaceful there, _safe_ in ways she never knew before. There was no cold, no danger and no reasons to be afraid.

Abby realizes after three corridors that she forgot her boots and her feet are freezing on the bare concrete. There are rubbles everywhere and she has to be careful where she walks. Yet she welcomes the discomfort. It is a reminder. A reminder she is not in the City of Light.  

The Commander tower is a maze and Abby is lost. She wanders at random, walking as if in a dream. There is a mist inside her chest, something that feels like detachment but is more an overload of feelings.

It isn’t long before she stumbles upon two Grounders. Guards, she thinks. Although what they are guarding is puzzling. She isn’t even sure where they stand in the Coalition, if they are still the thirteenth clan or not. Marcus has been handling the Grounders while she organized a triage. She doesn’t know what has been said and done. She doesn’t know if they’re guests or prisoners. She just knows her daughter is sleeping in the Commander’s rooms and it must mean something, _anything_.

She must not look very threatening standing there barefoot and unarmed because one of the Grounders barely puts his hand on the hilt of his sword and the other simply looks away. “ _Chit yu gaf in?”_

She blinks. Her Trigedasleng is bad on a good day and it is not a good day.

“ _Ai laik Abby kom Skaikru.”_ she answers, the familiar words rolling off her tongue with ease. It might be the only thing she can be sure of getting right. 

“ _Osi get in chon yu laik_.” the man frowns. _“Chit yu gaf in?”_

“ _Em lufa au emon heda_.” a familiar voice answers. Abby watches Indra walking out of the shadows with her usual confidence, downplaying a limp. Her eyes shot to the bandage around her wrists and the obvious marks of abuse on her body but she doesn’t say anything. Indra has been busy organizing Polis ever since Octavia has taken her down from the cross they nailed her on. The Grounder’s dark gaze is almost appraising when it turns to Abby. “They know who you are. They want to know what you seek. I told them you were seeking your commander.”

“I know where Clarke is.” she says and her voice sounds hollow to her own ears.

“ _Klark kom Skaikru_ is not _Skaikru_ ’s _heda.”_ Indra retorts with just the right amount of reproach that Abby feels she should feel guilty for not knowing that.

Pike is dead. Technically speaking, the Chancellor title should fall back on her but she is not about to fight anyone for it at the moment.

“Where is he?” she asks instead because deep down she knows who the Grounders consider to be their leader and she has no objections to it. She is in no state to have objections. She just wants to collapse. She wants to curl up and cry and collapse like she didn’t have time to properly do yet. But she needs to know he is alright first. She needs to know her nightmare is just a nightmare and he is alright. Not nailed to a cross any longer, not _hurt_ but alive and breathing.

“Follow me.” Indra orders more than she offers. They leave the guards behind and wanders down ladders to another floor, to other twisting corridors and more cold stone under her feet. Eventually they stop in front of a set of doors. “This floor is meant for clans’ leaders. He was about to pass out. I put him in there.”

“Thank you.” Abby whispers.

She walks closer to the door, places her hand on the handle and finds she’s unable to turn it.

They haven’t talked. She held him when he woke up, she tried to comfort him, she offered all the reassurances she could. But _they_ haven’t _talked_. There has been no time. Not with Clarke’s frightening revelation and the more pressing emergency of organizing Polis, to see to the wounded and establish some sort of order…

She hasn’t even said she’s sorry yet.

Memories flash in her mind and she closes her eyes, her jaw clenched to stop the sobs that want to wreck her. She slowly leans her forehead against the wood and she knows she will never find the courage to go inside.

“Kane is strong.” Indra states. Abby startles a little, having thought the woman had left. The Grounder isn’t done though. “Strong leaders generally choose strong _niron_.”

She presses her forehead harder against the door. “I don’t know that word.”

“Lovers.” Indra supplies and Abby wants to laugh. How to explain they haven’t gone that far yet? That she isn’t sure that’s even on the table anymore? Marcus hates himself for what he’s done under Alie’s influence, just like she does. The difference is, everything he did is _on_ _her_. Because he took the chip _for_ _her_.

“ _Hodnes laik kwelnes_.” Abby recites tiredly. _Love is weakness_ , she overheard it enough times in a Grounder camp. “Isn’t that what you say?”

“Not for you sky people.” the woman shrugs. “You do everything differently.”

She shuts her eyelids harder but tears escape all the same. “I don’t deserve his forgiveness.”

“Kane is a generous man. Forgiveness will be granted whether or not you deserve it.” Indra counters. “ _He_ deserves your strength. Skaikru needs a strong leader if the coalition has any chance to hold, a leader _we_ can respect. Help him be that. _That_ is how you earn forgiveness, not from him but from yourself. _Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim_. You are a strong _heda_ too, _Abby kom Skaikru_. Do not forget that.”

Indra’s footsteps recede down the corridor and Abby is left alone, leaning against a door she is afraid to open. All she can think about at the moment is the Pandora myth.

Some doors are better left closed.

And yet she pushes the handle down and she slips inside the room. It is dark in here too. It isn’t as big as the Commander’s rooms but she can see why those rooms are usually used for a clan’s leader. They’re spacious and there is a big window overlooking Polis – she thinks it must have been a beautiful sight _before_ , now all there is to see are pools of blood in the streets and the looming shapes of crosses in the distance.

It’s only once she’s taken a couple of steps inside that she spots Marcus. He’s lying on the bed, over the furs, his only concession to comfort are the boots he took off.

She steps closer, wary. Someone bandaged his hands. She will want to take a look later, to make sure it was properly done, but for now… She needs to be _sure_. His chest rises and falls and it should be enough confirmation that her nightmares were just that but she reaches out anyway. Her hand hovers over him, badly shaking, and the sob finally breaks free from her throat.

She can imagine the shapes of the bruises marring his chest and the rest of him. It takes all she has to find the strength to lower her hand, to _trust_ he won’t start screaming in pain at her touch. His heart pound under her palm and she closes her eyes and lets out a shallow breath. The sobs are too strong for her to swallow back and her shoulders shudder as she tries to keep them quiet.

Then her hand is covered by warm skin and scratchy fabric and her eyes fly open.

There are a thousand emotions on his face and it breaks her.

_It breaks her_.

For the second time that day, she feels like a puppet whose strings were cut. Her legs give in. _Everything_ give in. She doesn’t fall because he catches her, groaning in pain. She is _still_ causing him pain and it only makes her cry harder, even when he hauls her on the bed with him and draws her against him. He lies them down so they’re both on their sides, facing each other and he wraps himself around her. She tucks her head under his chin, buries her face in his shirt – it smells like blood, sweat, dirt and gunpowder and she _hates_ it because to her the smell talks of _torture_ – gripping his jacket in her clenched fist. He hooks his leg over hers in an attempt at holding her closer and she goes willingly, trying to melt against him.

Their legs are tangled, one of his hands is in her hair, clumsily combing the badly knotted strands, his other one is clinging to the back of her jacket.

She cries until there are no tears left in her. She cries until her body heaves and she thinks she’s going to be sick. She cries until she is ready to drop dead out of sheer exhaustion.

She’s vaguely aware of the small kisses he presses on the top of her head and of the hand that runs up and down her back.

“I shouldn’t have left you behind.”

It’s the first words they really exchange since it’s all over and it’s so ridiculous she almost starts laughing. _Of course_ , he would blame himself. _Of course_.

“I regretted it as soon as we were out of Arkadia.” he continues, his voice rough and pained. “I should have…”

“One of us had to stay.” she cuts him off tiredly. _To show their people the day out of the dark…_ That certainly went well. She doesn’t know how many they lost. The casualties are too numerous for them to have a precise number yet. She closes her eyes and clings to him a little harder. “We should have taken Jaha more seriously. We were so focused on Pike…”

“Pike was the priority at the time.” he replies. “We thought he was the real danger.”

“The real danger was already inside.” she counters. “I should have seen… I should have known…” He draws out a long sigh and presses his lips against her head again. It’s so soft she wants to cry again. She doesn’t deserve his softness. “I don’t know how you can bear to touch me…”

And yet she buries her face deeper in his shoulder, scared he will change his mind and push her away, scared he won’t. She doesn’t know. She’s tired right down to her bones, overwhelmed by all those feelings the City of Light curbed for a while.

“How can _you_?” he scoffs. “We all did things… We _all_ did terrible things, Abby. If we start casting blame…”

“I hurt you.” she protests. “I _used_ you. I stood by while they…”

“I hurt people too.” he cuts her off.

“I hurt _you_.” she growls because he doesn’t _get_ it. “I hurt _Clarke_.”

“I nailed _Indra_ to a cross.” he shrugs. “I almost strangled _Bellamy_. I would have killed anyone to stop Clarke and that included you too. I would have killed _you_. I would have…” His voice breaks and he buries his face in her hair. “We can’t… We can’t start casting blame, Abby. We _can’t_. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t me. It’s over. We move on.”

“But it’s my fault.” she insists. “You took the chip to protect _me_. You took it because…”

“Why did you?” he interrupts her again. “What happened in Arkadia? How did we get to this?”

Her jaw clenches at the memory. Clarke’s assurances that Raven is alright haven’t done much to appease her.

“Raven.” she explains. “Alie forced her to cut her wrists open. Jaha… He wouldn’t let me go until I took the key. I knew… I knew it was a mistake. I _knew_. But I couldn’t let her die. I _had_ to save her.”

“Like I had to save you.” he whispers. “See, it’s not so different.”

“You didn’t convince everyone in camp to take the key.” she counters. “Our people trusted me and I led them to their death.”

“It wasn’t you.” he says again.

“Clarke said that too.” she remarks. “She refuses to blame me.”

“That’s because your daughter is a wise girl.” he offers. “Like her mother.” He draws back a little to look at her, brushing back the hair that clings to her wet cheeks. She must look a mess, she thinks, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers trail down her cheek to her throat and his eyes darken when they brush against the bruising the rope left behind. “Are you in pain?”

It’s hard to say. She has been cut off from pain for days. The slightest thing feels like an inconvenience now. Thirst, hunger, fear, sadness, physical discomfort… It’s overwhelming.

“Are you?” she asks right back with a small frown. “Did you even get checked out?”

“There people worse off than me.” he shrugs.

She untangles herself from him and sits up, wiping her cheeks and eyes. “Strip up.”

For a second, his eyes sparkle with amusement and she’s sure he’s going to make a joke but then he’s lifting his upper body just long enough take his jacket and his shirt off and he lies back down. She sucks in a shaky breath at the sight of his chest but quickly shuts all her feelings down. It’s _Doctor Griffin_ who reaches for him and not _Abby_. It _can’t_ be Abby. Because Abby wants to hug and never let go.

She probes the bruising on his ribs, making sure nothing is broken. She winces when _he_ winces but at far as she can tell there are no broken bones. The cuts and scrapes will need to be cleaned but they don’t look infected so she lets it rest for now. She keeps waiting for him to flinch away from her touch but he doesn’t and she breathes a little easier once she is certain he isn’t too badly injured. Eventually there is nothing left for her to check but the hands and wrists. She cradles the right one in hers, lacking the courage to unwrap the bandage.

“Jackson did that.” he says. “You don’t have to look.”

“Yes, I do.” she answers. _Otherwise it will become a breach between us_ , she doesn’t say, _something I will never be able to confront or face._

The wound is clean and neatly stitched, almost not impressive enough for what happened. She brings it to her lips and presses a reverent kiss over it. She wishes it would be enough to erase it. She wishes she could carry it for him. She wishes…

He moves his hand as if to cup her cheek but she stops him and replaces the bandage on. She’s dirty. They don’t need to dirty the wound. She repeats the process with his other hand. The wound is less neat on that one but Jackson did a good job at stitching it up. She kisses it too before wrapping the gauze back around it.

He doesn’t try to sit up but he reaches for her throat again, lightly retracing the dark mark circling around it.

“I’m fine.” she promises.

“How close was it?” he asks. She licks her lips and looks down at her lap. It’s enough of an answer, she thinks, because he tugs on her arm a little.  “Come here.”

She lies back down next to him, her hand on his chest, ghosting over firm muscles and dark bruises. _Touching_. She needs to _touch_. She needs to _feel_ him.

He rolls on his side again, brushing her hair back once more, watching her for a moment before slowly coming to rest his forehead against hers.

“Six months.” he breathes out, jumping back to a conversation they haven’t yet had. Not _the two of them_ anyway. Clarke and Bellamy already started talking about it, already started discussing it, planning… She doesn’t quite know where Clarke and Bellamy fit in the hierarchical order of things. She just knows when it comes down to the people from the Ark, she and Marcus would always be the one having to vouch for her daughter’s plans, to _lead_ – the adult part of the population at least.

“That’s what Clarke said.” she confirms and she feels that new threat creeping under her skin. How do you fight _radiation_?

Six months is so little time…

His nose bumps against hers and she instinctively angles her head the right way, humming in pleasure when his lips brush against hers. Her mind briefly flashes to the last time it happened, to the way he gave in to the kiss before pushing her away but his mouth his warm and insistent and it is enough to chase the memory away.

She responds to the kiss eagerly, with something akin to despair, and she doesn’t fight him when he clumsily push her jacket off her shoulders. She doesn’t know if it’s about what they’ve just been through or about what’s ahead of them but she _does_ know time is precious, now more than ever.

His hands aren’t as deft as they can be and she slips her shirt off herself before leaning in to kiss him again. The kiss turns hungry when his palm runs up her side. The bandage is rough against her skin but his fingertips are warm and she doesn’t know how he manages to unclasp her bra but it’s soon off and his mouth travels down, stopping on her throat.

He kisses the bruises with caution before continuing on his way down. His mouth plants itself on the flat plane between her breasts before moving to the right, exploring, _learning_.

Abby craves this like she hardly ever craved anything else.

She’s the one who deals with buttons and zippers and gets the rest of their clothes off because she’s scared he will hurt himself. He hardly ever stops kissing her all the while, his mouth stays on her body at all time, be it on her lips, on her shoulder, on her breast or on stomach…

It’s not really how she imagined their first time.

They’re careful with other, mindful of each other’s injuries, but it’s so _perfect_ at the same time Abby almost wants to cry. She’s a mess, she knows, her feelings are all over the place.

It’s not the best sex she ever had and she’s sure he had better too. They’re tired and dirty and hurt and even though it’s good it’s not _earth shattering._ She doesn’t mind and he doesn’t either. This isn’t about _sex_ , this is making love in its purest form. This is about showing each other how they feel, this is about _trust_ and _healing_. There will be time later for dirtier things, right now this is sweet, his thrusts are slow and deep and her toes curl when bliss overtakes her. 

It’s _then_ , that she _finally_ feels like she’s waking up from this nightmare. _There_ with Marcus moaning her name in her neck as he comes, holding her tight and safe.

They remain curl up together, only slipping under the furs when it becomes too chilly for their naked bodies. Her back is against his chest, his arm is around her, his forearm between her breasts, his leg trapped between hers.

She can finally _breathe_.

“If we only have six months left…” he whispers against her nape.

“We will find a solution.” she tells him and she _believes_ it. She knows it in her heart just like she knew Clarke was alive on Earth when she was still trapped on the Ark. She _hopes_. And hopes is everything.

“I know.” he says and there is no hesitation in his voice. It’s a testament to how far he’s come, she thinks, because once Marcus would have already been running contingent scenarios in his mind. “But _if_ we only have six months left… We can’t lose a minute, Abby. What happened… We can’t let it spoil whatever time we have left. I want this. You and me. I _want_ it. And I don’t want to waste time.”

“I want it too.” she confesses, coiling her fingers around his elbow. “I want _everything_ with you.”

It’s scary how true her words are and how unafraid of them she is.

She feels his lips against her nape where Clarke cut to take the chip out.

“Together.” he vows.

“Together.” she repeats.

And it sounds like a promise.


	24. The Art Of Locking Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is crack because we need levity haha! And it was written before the finale so… I’m afraid there is no “we’re going to die in six months” vibe. It’s just a bit of fun ;)

The couch had always been his favorite thing in the war room.

Kissing Abby on the couch, now, that was his _new_ favorite thing. She hummed under his mouth, flopping down on her back, pulling him on her, her fingers combing through his hair. Her legs parted to bracket his hips and he slipped a hand under her shirt, ghosting along her ribs and up to her bra. His lips reverently retraced the line of her jaw…

“We’re _never_ going to finish reviewing these reports tonight.” he chuckled in her neck.

He tried to feel guilty about it and found he couldn’t. Things were fine for now, _good_. They were at peace with the Grounders, the camp was starting to heal from ALIE’s attack, Arkadia was thriving… Nobody would die because he took a day more to read a report on farming and crop collecting.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Chancellor Kane.” she teased, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it up. He had to briefly sit up between her legs to slip it off, eager to do the same with _her_ shirt – and the rest of her clothes to be honest.

“Let me go lock the door.” he sighed, sad to have to leave her there even if it was for a short moment.

Her legs wrapped around his waist and he lost his balance, falling forward and barely catching himself with his hand behind her head. She lost no time in coiling her hand behind his nape and drawing him in a kiss. “In a second.” she whispered between two pecks that turned into something messy. Her nails ran down his spine and his hips automatically jerked forward. The noise that escaped her throat made all his blood rush south _fast_.

“Abby…” he breathed out.

One would have expected a bit more restrain from a Chancellor and a former Chancellor but no such luck. When it came down to them, Marcus felt like a stupid teenager all over again.

She captured his lips again in a long peck. “Go lock the door.”

“Bossy.” he chuckled, leaning in for another kiss. The door could wait another minute.

Except _of course_ one kiss gave into another and another until they were out of breath and disheveled and the necessity of actually getting up to lock the door so they could get rid of their clothes was overwhelming.

So naturally, it was when Marcus propped himself on the back of the couch to stand up that the door was flung open.

“Kane, do you…”

For a moment, nobody moved.

Marcus remained frozen in place, very much kneeling between Abby’s legs, bare-chested, his pants visibly too tight, a spark of panic in his eyes. Abby had shut her eyes and was holding her breath as if to refuse the reality of what was happening.

And Clarke…

Clarke just stood there, _gaping_ , her eyes darting from him to her mother and slowly but surely turning an unhealthy looking shade of crimson.

They weren’t a secret, not really. Octavia knew so naturally the whole camp knew. But they weren’t particularly demonstrative either and they had never actually _gone_ _out_ and _said_ it. He didn’t even know if Abby had talked to her daughter about this. 

“Do you people _not_ know how to lock doors?” Clarke sputtered in righteous indignation.

It _finally_ spurred them on. Abby pushed Marcus off him and sat up, hiding her face behind her hands in embarrassment while he scrambled for his shirt and pulled it back on, making sure to _not_ tuck it in so it would hide everything that needed hiding from view. He didn’t dare sit back on the couch next to Abby so he leaned against the desk instead.

“ _Seriously_.” Clarke went on, glaring daggers at both of them in turns. “I _so_ don’t need this kind of trauma. _Seriously_ , Mom.”

“I’m… sorry.” Abby winced.

“You _can_ be sorry!” the girl snapped, rounding on him next with an accusatory pointed finger. “And _you_. You’re _Chancellor_. You’re supposed to lead by example!”

“I’m sorry.” he offered dutifully before clearing his throat. “Did you need something or…”

“Never mind.” she cut him off. “I’ll ask Bellamy. At least I’m sure I won’t find him doing anything like this. _He_ knows how to lock doors.”

She stormed out and pointedly slammed the door behind her.

“Did we just… get a dressing down by my own daughter?” Abby asked after a moment of silence.

“She’s nailing the _guilt trip_ thing.” Marcus commented. “Then again, I’m guessing she learned from the best.”

She shot him a glare where irritation was tempered by amusement.

“Why don’t you _do_ lock the door?”  she requested, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Be fair, though.” he smirked back while turning the lock. “I would have done it fifteen minutes ago if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“What can I say?” she laughed. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”


	25. Allusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More S2/S3 goodies! And also an explanation as to how Abby knows how to use a gun…

Marcus found her in the medical tent, packing up supplies with Jackson. They had decided to move Medical back in the station so they could gain space outside to expand with more solid building. Abby looked up and smiled when she spotted him. It was such a spontaneous response that he felt something flutter in his chest, something that had been tugging at his heartstrings more and more lately.

“Can I help you?” she asked, suddenly all business. Her frown wasn’t entirely disapproving but there was a clear warning there. “So help me if you and Miller _broke_ another kid…”

“We don’t _break_ them, we _train_ them.” he argued.

Several beds in the tent were occupied. Some patients were still recovering from Mount Weather, others were there because guard training was difficult and he refused to have a militia of sixteen years old on his hands. Bellamy had seemed glad at the opportunity to resume his training, he had _beamed_ in a show of uncharacteristic happiness when Marcus had handed him a jacket, and had convinced the others to follow that plan. It had gone more or less well.

Mostly, the kids who had volunteered to join were _good_ recruits and he was very satisfied with them but injuries still happened. He wasn’t training them to keep order on a closed space station, he was training them for a potential war he and Abby were trying their hardest to avoid. And Mount Weather was still too close. He didn’t want to live through another one.

The kids were receptive. Future leaders were already emerging, kids he knew he could trust to lead parties and mission: Bellamy, Nathan Miller… Teaching them discipline and a sense of hierarchy was more difficult though.

Harper proved that, right then and there, by waving at him from her bed as if he was a long lost friend instead of her superior.

And yet he found himself waving back because Harper was a good kid with too much sass who always doubled back to help other trainees who were in difficulties. She would make a good leader too eventually, once she would have broken out of the habit of blindly following Bellamy’s orders.

“That’s what you _claim_.” Abby snorted, going back to sorting the box on her desk since there was obviously no emergency. “But I always end up having to fix one of them.”

“Sixty percent of our patients come from your training sessions.” Jackson confirmed.

“They’re _learning_.” Marcus insisted.

“And I had to redo your stitches how many times?” she sighed, shaking her head at him.

Jackson had taken them out two weeks earlier but before that there _had_ been some accidental popping them off when he was a bit too rough during training. Lincoln’s help when it came to hand to hand combat was irreplaceable  but the Grounder didn’t understand the concept of _taking it easy_ when they were simply _demonstrating_ a particular technique.

“Are you busy?” he deflected. She looked up again and lifted an eyebrow as if to tell her _what do you think_? And it _might_ have been an idiotic question. She was their only doctor and she was also Chancellor, Abby was _always_ busy. He rolled his eyes. “I need you on the firing range.”

“Did one of the kids shoot themselves in the foot?” she asked with fatalism, already reaching out for her emergency bag.

“No. Miller took the kids in the woods for some practical exercise.” he shrugged. “It’s for you.”

“For me?” she repeated flatly, dropping the bag back where it came from.

“We talked about this, Abby.” he said, sounding firm.

“No.” she retorted. “ _You_ talked about this. I said _maybe_ which was a polite way to tell you it was _never_ going to happen.”

Jackson’s eyes darted from his mentor to him and wisely rushed to Harper’s side to check on her even though the girl didn’t look in any discomfort.

Marcus folded his arms in front of his chest, staring her down. He didn’t care if he looked like a jerk. She _would_ learn how to defend herself.

“I will get you there if I have to toss you over my shoulder.” he warned. She glared, pursing her lips tight in annoyance and he just _knew_ she was going to dare him to do it. He shook his head. “Don’t try me, Abby.”

“I could have you arrested if you tried to grab me, _Councilman_.” she hissed.

“I’ll arrest myself once we’re done if that’s what it takes, _Chancellor_.” he snapped.

Her jaw clenched. “I have work to do _here_ where I’m _useful_. Guns are _your_ thing, Marcus. We both know I will suck at it and…”

“I can handle Medical, Abby.” Jackson offered from the other end of the tent. “It’s calm.”

“See? Jackson can handle Medical.” Marcus triumphed. “Now come on. Don’t make this difficult. I won’t back down.”

“When do you _ever_ back down?” Abby muttered, tossing a dark look at Jackson on her way out of the tent. _Traitor_ , her eyes said.

Marcus followed her, automatically lifting the flap of the tent for her and guiding her out with a hand on the small of her back even though it was unnecessary. Her limp was almost gone now but he had spent so much time watching her like a hawk in the last month that _he_ could still see the slight tinge of pain with every step she took. It was why he hadn’t insisted too much about doing this before, he wanted her fully healed.

“You know, this is _really_ unnecessary.” she said as they walked along the station’s metallic outer wall to reach the makeshift firing range. “You won’t let me go collect herbs _right outside_ of camp without _two_ guards. And when we meet with Grounders you are right next to me the whole time. I am as safe as can be.”

“No, you’re not.” he countered. “I will protect you with my life, Abby, and so will the other guards. That’s our job. But what happens if I get killed?”

“I will bring you back to kill you myself.” she deadpanned. “Because you are _not_ dying on me, Kane.”

His last name was a shock and he briefly stopped walking, trying to recall when was the last time he had been _Kane_ and not _Marcus_. She went on. Looking straight ahead and with her jaw clenched, anger radiating from her in waves.

It only took one long stride to catch up with her. He coiled his hand around her elbow to slow her down but she refused to look at him.

“I won’t go through another Mount Weather.” he told her quietly. “I won’t have you grabbed and taken away just because I’m too weak to protect you.”

“You were not weak, you were _hurt_.” she snapped. “Have you forgotten the building that collapsed on you already?” 

He hadn’t. His memories were a bit jumbled but he _did_ remember. He remembered how she had stubbornly refused to leave his side, how she had held his hand and promised they would be alright…

“They still took you.” he shrugged.

“And we were _fine_ in the end.” she reminded him with a soft sigh as they reached the deserted firing range.

He had sent the kids away with Miller on purpose. He didn’t think she would want an audience for this. First because he knew she would probably not be great at it and it wouldn’t do to have the whole camp seeing their Chancellor fail at something and, second, because he just _knew_ one of the kids would joke – probably Bellamy – and he _liked_ them. Abby would have chewed their heads off for mocking her.

“I’m not willing to take any chance.” he insisted. “Look… If you don’t do it for yourself, do it for me. Or for your daughter.” He added that last part hastily because it made more sense than Abby randomly learning to shoot for his sake. “Maybe one day you will find yourself in a situation where you will have to protect her. And you will be happy to know how to hold a gun then.”

She studied him for a long time, mulling that over. She didn’t say what they were both thinking. Abby having to shoot someone to protect Clarke was unlikely. Clarke would more probably do the shooting herself. But Abby having to shoot someone to protect _him_ because he would have been stupid enough to go down fighting to make sure she was alright? That was a scenario that looked more plausible at the moment.

He tended to be on the overprotective side when it came down to her safety and not only because she was their Chancellor.

“Alright.” she surrendered. “But I’m a healer, Marcus, not a warrior. I don’t like this.”

“Dutifully _noted_.” he answered.

A smile stretched her lips, slightly strained but an obvious testimony of goodwill. “And I bet you I will be hopeless at it.”

“I will teach you.” he promised. “You’ll get it in no time.”

It was an optimistic take.

Abby _was_ , in fact, rather hopeless at shooting.

She tried but her heart wasn’t in it. She followed his instructions to the letter, at best managing to hit the target but never where it counted. He corrected her position several times, standing close behind her with his hands on her hips, sometimes nudging one of her legs with his foot so she would widen her stance.

“If you want me to spread my legs wide, you should say so, Marcus.” she grinned at some point.

He almost choked and then started spluttering denials only to stop when her laugh rang clear and joyful. He stepped closer, pressing his chest against her back and she abruptly stopped laughing when his hands covered hers, aiming the gun at the correct level.

“ _Focus_.” he chided her, his voice low in her ear. He felt her shivering and smirked to himself. Two could play that game after all. “Now take a deep breath and when you breathe out, pull the trigger. Don’t over think it.” She hit the target right where it counted and he stepped back, giving her back her space. “See? I knew you could do it.”

“Well, your teaching methods are… _effective_.” she teased. “I understand why you wanted to give me _private lessons.”_

He rolled his eyes at her, a fond smile on his lips. “Are you done?”

“I don’t know.” she snorted. “Are _you_? Do you want to tell me more about spreading my legs or how to keep a firm grip on the gun but not _too_ tight? _Oh_! Do I need to know more about the importance of breathing through it because…”

“I _swear_ you’re five years old.” he mocked, unable to stop himself from laughing. “You’re _worse_ than the kids.”

“If you give them that sort of speeches, I’m surprised they manage to focus _at all_.” she chuckled, handing him the gun back carefully. “I’m starting to understand why I have so many injured in my tent at the end of the day.”

“It’s not because _your_ mind is in the gutter…” he argued.

“Marcus, you talk about guns like you talk about sex.” she interrupted him.

“How would _you_ know?” he challenged. “I never talked about sex with you, did I?”

She waited until he had put the gun away and they were well on their way back to Medical before she spoke again – her voice was a mix of teasing and grief. “You _do_ realize I was friend with Callie and girls talk, right?”

He hadn’t thought about Callie in a while. He wasn’t sure he had thought about her at all since hitting the ground, aside for a fleeting thought when they had found Alpha and she had been missing. He suddenly felt guilty about that, about forgetting a friend they had both shared even if his own relationship with her had been more than complicated toward the end.

He could have replied _he_ had been friends with _Jake_ and that boys talked too but he was a little classier than that and he didn’t want to bring Jake in this conversation.

“She never seemed to have any complains.” he smirked, probably looking too smug.

“No. Not about sex at least.” Abby confirmed with open amusement. “She used to say you had some great moves.”

He licked his lips, the discussion sliding into dangerous waters. Talking about sex with Abby wasn’t something he was entirely comfortable with. They were friends, yes, but something had been _shifting_ between them lately and… The whole conversation felt less like harmless friendly banter and more like… He didn’t know _what_ exactly… Except that he wouldn’t have minded showing her some of these moves she was talking about.

“Abby…” he hesitated.

“All I’m saying is… Maybe try to keep it PG for the kids.” she hurried in saying, flashing him a bright smile that barely covered the sudden panic he could feel underneath. Maybe she had been taken aback by were her thoughts had led her too, maybe she wasn’t ready for this _shifting_. He didn’t want to push her on this. He was too painfully aware he didn’t deserve her.

“I’m still saying _you_ ’re seeing innuendoes where there aren’t.” he insisted.

They were back in front of the medical tent and she shrugged with a smile that let him know she was simply humoring him. “If you say so. Dinner tonight?”

“Sure.” he agreed readily.

It was only much later when Miller had brought the kids back and he was going over the watch duty schedule with Bellamy that he cleared his throat.

“Do you think I talk about guns in a weird way?” he asked the boy.

Bellamy looked puzzled by the abrupt change in conversation and then shrugged. “No? Why?”

“Never mind.” he mumbled, not willing to explain their Chancellor had seen sexual allusions in every sentence he had uttered while teaching her how to shoot.

He was right and he knew it.

_She_ was the one whose mind was in the gutter, not _him_.


	26. Monty's Moonshine

Moonshine was technically forbidden.

It didn’t stop the brand new bar to always be stocked with some.

Marcus and Abby had deliberately been turning a blind eye to what Monty was up to in his spare time. Plus, it was better than the bland liquor that used to circulate on the Ark.

It was also _stronger_.

“I think you had your full.” Marcus chuckled, plucking the cup from Abby’s hand and downing it with a wince so she wouldn’t steal it back. His head was spinning a little and he wasn’t as clear headed as a Councilman Chief of the Guards should have been when having a briefing with their Chancellor. Of course, having briefings around campfires under the stars weren’t productive. They always ended up talking about everything but what they intended to talk about, Arkadia sometimes creeping in the conversation but rarely for practical questions.

He didn’t know who had started passing moonshine around, there were several groups of people huddled in front of different fires… He thought it might have been Raven or maybe Gina… Their cups hadn’t been allowed to remain empty for the last hour. Abby had tried to protest at some point but the kids were convincing.

Her head fell on his shoulder and she snorted before starting to laugh. It took her a few minutes to collect herself and sound a little more serious. “Marcus?”

“Yes?” he smirked.

“I think I’m very _very_ drunk.” she confessed in a whisper before bursting out laughing again. She was loud and people were starting to glance at them.

“I agree.” he mocked. “It’s bedtime for Chancellors.”

She propped her chin on his shoulder, her hand coiling around his forearm, a devious grin on her lips. “I’m Chancellor.”

“Yes.” he confirmed, trying his hardest not to laugh at her. “That’s you.”

She licked her lips, her eyes darkening a little as her voice dropped to a low octave that sent shivers down his spine. “Are you taking me to bed, Marcus?”

There was a clear intent in the question. The hand slid higher, fingers wrapping around his upper arm, very much getting a feel at the muscles underneath.

“You are going to be _so_ embarrassed in the morning, Abby.” he teased because it was better than letting her know just how much she was affecting him. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.”

He stood up and helped her to her feet, keeping an arm around her waist when it became clear she wouldn’t be able to walk without stumbling every few steps. She didn’t seem to mind, he snuggled against his side.

He did his best to ignore the stares and the whispers that followed their retreat into the wreckage of the Ark. Rumors were already raging anyway. The corridors were mostly deserted and it soon turned out she had been _behaving_ in public. The first time he felt her nose rubbing against his neck, he thought it was an accident. Except it was soon obvious it wasn’t and that she was actually _nuzzling_ his skin.

“Abby.” he warned firmly.

“I want you to show me the moves Callie told me about.” she declared, one of her hand deftly sneaking under his jacket and fisting his shirt. “I want you to…”

“You’re drunk.” he cut her off, relieved to spot her door in the distance.

“Not so much you should be ashamed to take advantage of it.” she hummed, playfully biting down on his neck.

“Abby.” he repeated and it was almost pleading this time.

Marcus Kane wasn’t sure he was a good man, most days he was sure he _wasn’t_ , but his mother had raised him right. He would _never_ take advantage of a woman who had indulged too much.

“Don’t you want me?” she pouted, drawing away from him a little to get a close look at his face. “I _know_ you do. I think I know…”

She looked confused now and he took full advantage of _that_ to usher her inside her room and close the door before anyone could see them acting weird in the corridor. She didn’t resist when he guided her to her bed and sat her down or when he unlaced her boots and took them off. He realized quickly she was _sulking_.

Drunk Abby was moody.

“Hey.” He nudged her knee tentatively.

It earned him a mild glare and another pout. The pout was doing things to him he _really_ shouldn’t have been thinking about.

“I feel like an idiot now.” she grumbled.

“Don’t.” he smiled, gently pushing her until she got the idea and climbed under her blankets. “If you weren’t drunk, I’m probably the one who would look like an idiot.” Her eyelids were already dropping so he sighed and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Sleep well.”

He didn’t know if she slept well or not but clearly the hangover she sported the next day wasn’t enough to erase her memories because she blushed and stammered every time they crossed paths.

He fiercely forbade himself to think it was _cute_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested Drunk kabby and traverlerontheedge17 wanted a continuation of the conversation between kabby regarding Marcus’ moves (it can’t be read apart from my latest one shot though) so here we go with some crackish stuff. Enjoy!


	27. Through Fire And Ash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on herardentwish’s awesome Pompeii manips (that you should totally check out as well as the rest of her work on tumblr) but I’m afraid I didn’t do justice to the pics haha! Well… I tried! Thanks to Cami for the beta!

Abby ran from one end of the atrium to the other, trying to attend to all the wounded who had taken refuge in her house. Rich or poor, everyone knew they would find help there, her house was always open to those who needed it.

She kneeled next to an old man who had been crushed by a cart during the earthquake and pursed her lips when she realized it went beyond her competences. She gave the man a reassuring smile and placed a hand on the shoulder of one of her slaves. “Make sure he is comfortable, please.”

“Yes, _domina_.” the girl whispered.

People kept stumbling inside her house, looking for water or help. It wasn’t the first time the ground shook and she knew it wouldn’t be the last but still… She tended to a little girl… It was hot that day, entirely _too_ hot. Her white and blue stola was sticking to her skin in some places. Abby impatiently brushed her long brown hair back behind her shoulder wishing she had had the foresight of having it braided that morning instead of letting it loose with only a few strands pinned back to clear her face.

She had just finished stitching up the child when a hand hovered in her line of sight. The hand was calloused and scarred, a warrior’s hand, and she guessed who it belonged to even before her eyes trailed up the muscular arm and to the leather armor. She took the hand anyway and let him help her to her feet if only to not give him the satisfaction of letting him know just how much his presence rattled her.

“Abby.” Marcus nodded.

She studied him. He looked a bit dirtier and more disheveled than he usually would allow himself but she attributed that to the earthquake. She could see no obvious injuries and if he was not injured, he had no business being there.

She snatched her hand back.

“Marcus.” she greeted him coldly.

He looked pained by her tone but it was gone in a flash, hidden behind the soldier mask he always showed the world. She hated this. By any account, she should have hated _him_. It was him who had had her husband executed for treason and it was because of him that her daughter was in exile. Of course, none of that would have happened in the first place if she hadn’t run to Thelonious hoping he would reason with Jake but that was besides the point. _Marcus_ had arrested her husband and _Marcus_ would have arrested Clarke if Abby hadn’t run interference long enough for her daughter to flee. The fact that Marcus had delayed giving chase _just_ long enough to allow Clarke to slip through the soldiers’ fingers was beside the point too.

She should have hated him but it would have been an easier thing to do if she hadn’t been certain that everything he did, he did out of duty for Rome and the empire.

Hurting her family had brought him no pleasure. He and Jake had been friends, as friends as a plebeian soldier and a patrician could be anyway.

It was Jake’s folly that had precipitated everything, Jake’s certainty that Pompeii was in danger and should have been abandoned. Jake had been a respected man, a scholar everyone trusted, his insistence that Mount Vesuvius was a danger would have triggered a panic reaction. Pompeii was an important city and the empire would have suffered from its loss. She had gone to Thelonious hoping he would convince Jake of the errors of his ways. She had betrayed Jake’s intentions of addressing the people to Thelonious and Thelonious had betrayed her by sending Marcus and his soldiers to her home in the middle of the night.

That had been a year earlier.

“What can I do for you?” she asked him briskly when he simply stood there and stared.

He glanced around them and guided her further away with a hand on her arm. Once he was sure nobody could hear them, he let go and she pretended she didn’t miss the warmth of his palm.

“You need to leave the city right now.” he declared in a low voice, sounding dead serious. “Go to Misenum.”

“Misenum?” she frowned. Misenum was a peninsula not too far from the city where a fleet was stationed.

Marcus licked his lips, his eyes darting over her shoulder to the growing number of people in her atrium. “Jaha left. He took his son and most of the garrison with him. He thinks…”

His voice trailed off but she didn’t need him to finish his thought. “He thinks Jake was right and the mountain is about to explode.”

He gave her a brief nod. “If Jake was right… There is no time to waste. I will get you out of the city.”

“Not only _me_.” she argued. “We need to sound the alarm. We need to…”

“People will panic and I don’t have enough soldiers left to safely deal with an evacuation right now.” he cut her off. “I have my orders and my orders are to get you out of Pompeii. They will need all the healers they can get there.”

“They will need them _here_.” she hissed. “You will have to arrest me, Marcus, because I am going to warn those people.” She tried to turn around but he held her back, his fingers firmly coiled around her arm. His grip wasn’t tight enough to bruise but it was tight enough that she had no other option but to stand there and listen. Unfortunately, she was not good at _listening_. “You know, it’s _not_ right. You _know_.”

He searched her eyes for the longest time and then his jaw clenched and he looked away. “Warn them. Tell them to spread the word. Tell them to head for the fleet but you’re _not_ waiting for them. A horde will be slow. I need to get you out of Pompeii. I’ll come back to help them once I’m sure you’re safe.”

Compromise didn’t come easily to Marcus and thus she didn’t push for more.

Convincing people to leave the city was more difficult than she had planned. Earthquakes were a common thing, nobody took it seriously. Her slaves and guards listened to her at least, and promised to rouse as many people out of Pompeii as possible.

“I will come back and force them to leave.” Marcus promised, firmly guiding her out of her house. She barely had time to look back over her shoulder for a last glance at a home where she had been happy for years before it had all turned sour. “I’ve hidden a cart on the outskirt of the city. I’ll take you to it.”

“You’re not coming with me to Misenum.” she deduced and then shook her head. “No, Marcus… We can convince people to leave together and then…”

“Abby.” he cut her off, gentle but firm. “Salvation comes at a price.”

His death might not be a price she was willing to pay.

The thought was fleeting, drown in the deafening noise and the tremor that made everything shake. Holding on to the wall of a nearby house, they looked up in the direction of Mount Vesuvius, eyes growing wide in horror when they spotted the dark pillar of smoke rising high in the sky.

In a matter of seconds, the sky turned dark despite the fact it couldn’t be much later than noon. Suddenly, it was night. And in the night it was only too clear the mountain was on fire.

“We need to go. _Now_.” Marcus ordered when the tremor subsided. He grabbed her hand and this time she followed blindly after him. They ran through the streets, sidestepping collapsed building and rubble… People were screaming and she would have stopped to help, to _heal_ , but Marcus’ hand was like steel around her fingers and he urged her forward, always forward…

Madness had taken over Pompeii. People were loading carts with their belongings, others were trying to run with no clear idea of where to go, some were fighting, looting… Marcus’ free hand regularly fell on his gladius sword when men looked too threatening but he never paused long enough to draw it out.

It must have killed him to see the city in this state of disarray. For every robbery they ran past, his face closed up a little more. For every fight they ignored and didn’t break, he looked more and more pained. She knew why he never stopped. She knew because he kept telling her to go faster despite the steady pain in her side and the fact she hadn’t run that long or that far since she was a little girl. His orders were to protect her and Marcus was a good soldier. He would die before he failed.

She had no idea where the cart he had mentioned was hidden but it couldn’t be much further.

Then death started falling from the sky.

Ash and stones.

A downpour of ash and stones…

Marcus grabbed her and pushed her under a porch, her back against the wall, his body a rigid shield in front of her. Theirs was a pitiful refuge. The ashes were hot and burned where they landed on their skin, it was impossible not to breathe them in. Abby started coughing and buried her face in his shoulder, wrapped her arms around his waist and hoped for the best.

She was acutely aware she was embracing the man who had arrested her husband, a man she should have hated and loathed.

She was also acutely aware of the long looks and lingering touches that had kept happening over the last few months every time their paths met. He had never said anything and she hadn’t either of course but she was not the naïve young girl she had been when she had married Jake, she knew men’s gazes now. She knew the way Marcus was watching her was far from simple friendly concern. She knew the way she was watching him betrayed more than she would have liked.

His hand found her neck as he pressed his own mouth and nose against his arm.

Smoke rose from different spots in the city, everywhere people screamed and cried, calling for help, calling for their loved ones… She heard a mother desperately wailing for her child and she thought that at least Clarke was safe. _Safe from the fires from hell._

“We need to get to the cart.” Marcus coughed in her ear. “It’s our only chance.” She nodded her understanding but didn’t let go of him. His fingers coiled around her nape and squeezed gently. “Abby…”

She drew back and brushed her hand against his cheek, searching his eyes. “We can do this.”

“Yes, we can.” he answered without a second of hesitation.

She nodded again and bent down to tear parts of her dress off. It was soiled with soot, sweat and dirt but it would have to do. The fabric would help them not to breathe the ash in but it wouldn’t protect them from the flying stones.

The ashes were heavy and some roofs caved in, adding to the general chaos. It was pitch black outside, the only light piercing the night was the fires and the glowing red of Vesuvius in the distance.

She clung to Marcus’ hand, trusting his instincts more than she did hers.

Her skin was on fire, burned from the ash rain. It itched and tingled.

“We’re not far!” He shouted to her over his shoulder.

That was when the nearest building collapsed, sending them both flying in the middle of the rubble. She laid there in the ash piling in the street, disorientated, and for a moment she almost gave up. _For a moment_.

She scrambled up, lifting a hand to her throbbing forehead, not surprised to find her fingers sticky with blood.

“Marcus!” she screamed, joining the thousands of voices in the city calling for someone. She felt tears prickling her eyes but she didn’t let that stop her. She searched around the rubble, ignoring the pain, until she finally found him, half trapped under a pillar. “Marcus.” She shook his shoulder relentlessly. “ _Marcus_.”

His eyelids fluttered open and he started coughing. She tried to shield him from the falling debris as much as she could but it was a hopeless task. When his eyes finally focused properly on her, she was already trying to estimate the damages his body had suffered. His thigh was bleeding, that much was clear. She tore more fabric from her dress and worked on securing a tourniquet.

“Abby…” he breathed out between two coughs. “The cart’s just two streets away. Go.”

“No.” she replied, looking around to find something she could use as leverage to get him out from under the rubble.

“Abby…” he insisted.

“I’m not leaving you here.” she snapped. She found a long piece of metal. It was hot and it burned her hands but it looked solid enough and she thought if she could lift the stone _just_ a little, he might manage to crawl from underneath, then she would support him to where the cart was hidden and they would leave _together_.

That plan didn’t go so well.

The stone wouldn’t budge. She tried and tried until her palms started to bleed, until she slipped and fell and cried out in helplessness. Nothing did the trick. She wasn’t strong enough.

“I’m going to find help.” she told him, shaking his shoulder because he had closed his eyes at some point. “You need to stay awake, Marcus. Do you hear me? You need to stay _awake_.”

“Abby…” he coughed out, reaching out for her face. “I lied. Nobody ordered me to get you out… I just… I couldn’t…”

_I couldn’t let you die_

The words hung between them, unvoiced but clear.

“And you think _I_ can?” she hissed, covering the hand on her cheek with hers. “I _forbid_ you to die, do you understand? I will go get help. Stay alive.”

She got to her feet and then dropped back on her knees in the dirt, to frame his face in her hands. There was no finesse or technique to the kiss she planted on his lips, he barely had time to respond to it.

“What was that?” he mumbled as she got to her feet.

“Let’s call it hope.” she answered. She refused to think it was goodbye.

She darted away quickly because she knew otherwise she would have never been able to leave him. She wandered in the surrounding chaos, keeping the crook of her elbow over her mouth, coughing when she wasn’t crying out for help, lost in a world of ash and fire.

She wondered briefly if that was how the end of the world looked like.

She lost any sense of time.

She roamed in that nightmare without meeting another soul. Everyone had either left or had taken refuge inside. It was probably wise.

Her mind kept drifting to Marcus, lying alone in the rubble, trying not to think he might already be dead…

She didn’t know how long it had been when she finally spotted a dark figure in the falling ash. She wanted to shout but her throat was swollen and it was barely a croak. “Please, help me.” The man was a gladiator, the outfit made that obvious. Not that it mattered anymore. _Nothing_ mattered anymore. “Please…”

The man was kind or she looked exceptionally pitiful, either way he accepted to follow her. She was lost. It took her a while to find the spot where she had left Marcus, even with the gladiator’s – Lincoln, he offered – encouragements.

Marcus looked like a fallen statue made out of dust.

“No!” she muttered. “No, no, no…” She skidded to her knees next to him, cradled his head on her lap, quickly passed her hand over his mouth and nose to wipe the ashes away and let her fingers roam on his neck for a pulse. “Please… Please… I can’t do this again… Don’t…”

“Still here.” he mumbled, turning his head aside and coughing his lungs out.

She almost doubled over in relief. “I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again.”

“I had those fears myself.” he tried to joke.

With Lincoln’s help, they managed to get him out from under the pillar and to drag him in what was left of the building. It wasn’t much but it provided some needed shelter while she worked on stopping the bleeding in his leg. Infection would be a concern for another time.

“We have a way out.” Marcus offered the gladiator. “You should come with us.”

Lincoln shook his head. “I am looking for someone.” His dark eyes darted to Abby and back to Marcus. “Hold on to her.”

Marcus nodded with gravity and they both watched Lincoln wander back in the ash rain.

“How far from the cart are we?” she asked, tying up the makeshift bandage. _And would it still be there_?

“Two streets.” he answered before licking his lips. “You would be faster on your own.” She glared at him and despite the seriousness of the situation his face softened and he smiled. “I had to try.”

She shook her head at him and carefully helped him to his feet.

“We can’t rest.” she declared. “If Jake was right…”

“Yes.” he agreed but when she forced his arm around her shoulders so that he could lean his weight on her, he surprised her by drawing her against his chest. _This_ kiss had no point of comparison at all with the previous one. This one was real. Desperate, violent, but _real_. Her fingers tangled in his hair, angling his head the way she wanted it and he groaned in her mouth, automatically tugging her even closer…

_Damned volcano._

Eventually, the kiss slowed down to something akin to _yearning_. His thumb stroke her cheek, retracing the line of her cheekbone and he rested his forehead against hers. “Abby…”

“I know.” she murmured. “You will tell me later. When we’re safe.”

He kissed her again. A brief peck that was a promise of things to come.

Their progression was slow.

They were only a few feet away when rocks started falling from the sky, not stones but _rocks_ that destroyed everything on landing and quickly piled in the streets. They pressed forward, running as fast as Marcus’ hopping on his good leg would allow.

The building he had left the cart in was still standing, the horse was stamping the ground, its eyes wide. Marcus talked to it in a soothing voice, leading it out of the box and reaching for the saddle.

“What about the cart?” Abby asked.

“It will be quicker this way. And easier to maneuver.” he answered with enough confidence that she didn’t argue.

It wasn’t ideal for his thigh but the alternative was probably a slow death so she decided the pros outweighed the cons and helped him get on the horse. When he was settled, he outstretched a hand and pulled her up in front of him. She was scared of falling for a moment but Marcus’ arms were strong around her and his chest was solid against her back.

“Close your eyes.” he advised, right before he spurred the horse.

She _didn’t_ close her eyes.

She kept them wide open.

Outside, the world had definitely turned into a nightmarish hell. It was terrifying. Marcus guided the horse with skill or maybe the horse guided itself. It avoided flying rocks and rushed straight ahead in a primitive instinct to seek safety… But there was no avoiding the stench of the fires or the sight of their beloved city collapsing on itself.  

Ash hit her straight in the eyes and mouth but she didn’t dare move to bury her face in Marcus’s shoulder or neck, she didn’t want to disrupt the fragile balance.

The ride felt as if they were free falling on earth.

They were weightless and heavy at the same time, suspended in uncertainty.

It got a little easier when they left the city behind but not by much.

The time it took to reach the shore was unquantifiable.

To Abby, it lasted a lifetime.

The horse was foaming in the mouth when they got the first glimpse of water and the ground was trembling without rest. Dead animals were scattered along the shore.

The fleet was there, rescuing refugees, trying to keep afloat.

Abby and Marcus got on the very last boat. Two more minutes and they would have been stranded.

The galley they boarded was already full of people and started its slow retreat to safer water. It would take them to Naples, someone told them.

She couldn’t begin to care where the galley would take them. She leaned against Marcus’ chest and, just like the rest of the refugees, they watched the raging mountain in the distance. She thought about all the people still stranded in Pompeii, people who were dead or would be very soon, and she fought the urge to just sit down and weep.

“In peace, may you leave the shore…” Marcus whispered when the galley was far enough away that all they could see was the glowing tip of the volcano and the dark cloud it was spitting out. “In love, may you find the next…”

“What’s that?” Abby croaked, her throat still sore despite the water that had been passed around.

“Something my mother used to say.” he shrugged. “I don’t know exactly.”

She looked up at him, scraping her nails in his beard to brush the ash away. “We’re alive.”

There was a touch of surprise in her voice.

“We’re alive.” he echoed, his lips stretching in a slow smile.

Suddenly she was laughing, perhaps with a small tinge of hysteria. He muffled it with his mouth and she gave herself completely to that kiss.

That kiss was a beginning.


	28. Here And There Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been meaning to write this forever. This is a missing scene for 3X09.

The rumor reaches her in the depth of the medical bay where she is hiding but Abby refuses to believe it. Nobody tells it to her directly. She hears it. Like whispers in the wind. From mouth to ear. Frightened murmurs. Dreadful possibilities.

She refuses to believe it.

He was caught, that much she knows for sure – _the whole camp_ knows for sure, a failed coup doesn’t exactly go unnoticed – but surely Pike won’t be enough of an idiot to do something so…

“Ma’am.”

She startles, the pack of unused syringes she was about to place in a drawer forgotten in her hand. In truth Medical doesn’t need to reorganized but she finds the mindless task soothing. Restocking, making sure everything is on hand, making sure they will be ready for the next emergency bursting through the doors…

The bay is deserted. There are no patients and she asked Jackson to take some time off when he started hovering too much around her after the rumors first reached them. The bay is deserted aside for her and Bellamy Blake who stands next to the door and looks sheepish, guilty and a thousand things in between.

She wants to feel surprised but she doesn’t. She just feels dread. Cold, paralyzing dread.

He used to be a regular visitor in Medical either as a patient or because he needed her for Chancellor matters. He hasn’t been in there on his own volition since Pike was elected.

Her voice is harsher than it should. She knows Bellamy, she knows he doesn’t have bad intentions, she _knows_ … But the road to hell is paved with good intentions – she cemented a few of those herself. “Do you need something?”

He takes a few steps inside and carefully closes the door behind him and Abby stills even more. She knows what this is about. She lived through it once before.

He only stops when he is next to her, close enough to touch – not that he would dare. He can’t even meet her eyes.

He clears his throat and chances a glance at her, waiting for her to speak. She doesn’t.

She has no intention of making this easy for anybody.

“Abby.” he says eventually and his voice falters as if he’s unsure of being allowed such a familiar address after everything. “They’re going to…” He stops and lifts pained eyes to hers, silently begging her to finish for him but, again, she remains silent and so he has no choice but to wince. “Chancellor Pike decided to execute them.”

The slap surprises her because she isn’t a particularly violent person.

It happens too fast for her to think.

Her palm tingles and Bellamy rubs his cheek, eyes downcast, shoulders slouched. _Defeated_.

“I didn’t know…” the boy tries and she snorts.

She snorts and it’s so bitter and so unlike her he stops talking and looks up again, eyes full of painfully restrained tears. Her reply _Did you think it was a game?_ dies on her lips. Didn’t she make the same mistake once? Trust a friend to do the right thing, trust that no blood would be shed only to find herself responsible for her husband’s death? Where is the difference between what she did and Bellamy’s role in all this?

She can’t cast blame.

“I won’t let it happen.” Bellamy swears, reaching for her hand and squeezing her numb fingers. “I _promise_ I won’t let it happen.”

She knows what she is supposed to answer to that. _Do nothing, don’t put yourself in danger…_

She stares instead. She’s waiting for the emotions to rail their ugly heads. She waits and waits and all she feels is this cold hollow detachment.

“Chancellor Griffin.” the boy insists. “We will find something…”

“I’m not Chancellor anymore.” she counters at last, and shakes her head at him. “Tell me when you have a plan. I want in.”

“I think you are again now.” he says when she places the pack of syringes in the drawer and steps around him. “ _Chancellor_.” It’s on the tip of her tongue to remind him he can’t pick and choose, that he made his bed and now has to lie in it but she swallows it back because of everything they’ve been through together and because Marcus is Bellamy’s mentor – or _was_ before Charles Pike came and stole him from them. The pin should have been Marcus’, she almost says but that too she keeps silent. There is no point adding to Bellamy’s guilt. Not now. She doesn’t even want to think about Octavia’s reaction if they don’t find a way and Lincoln… A mess, this is _all_ a mess. “Ma’am, where are you going?”

“I owe our Chancellor a visit.” she answers and leaves Medical, barely aware of his worried attempts at dissuading her.

She’s numb when she leaves Medical, still in a state of denial and shock.

She’s three corridors away from the war room when she feels it. Not the sorrow, not the terror, not the guilt and the grief… _The wrath._

She passes by Harper who stops to stare at her like she has grown a second head. She must have been a sight, she figures. She almost orders the girl to give her her gun because that would be a solution, wouldn’t it? A definite end to this story. The Grounders would have his corpse to burn as they please and _they_ would be free to retake Arkadia. It’s nothing Marcus wouldn’t have done. They gave Pike a chance and he didn’t take it.

She goes on without the gun.

She’s no warrior.

She knows how to heal and mend, she knows how to protect and defend but murdering someone in cold blood is more than she can do.

She hates that she needs to hammer on the closed door and waits there like the war room didn’t use to be _hers_.

She hates it even more when the door finally opens and Pike doesn’t look surprised to see her there, simply resigned.

She hates the patronizing way he steps aside with a sigh and glares at people in the corridor who stopped to watch.

She hates that the first thing she sees is the couch – _their_ couch – and that instead of feeding her anger, it punches her in the guts with an unhealthy wave of helplessness. The room is different now. It isn’t the refuge it became after Mount Weather. There are no traces left of the time she and Marcus used to spend in there. Everything is gone and suddenly it’s like a bad omen, like the rest of her life will be like just this room very soon, with only memories to keep her company.

“You can’t do this.” she says as soon as she hears the door closing behind her but her voice is weaker than she would like.

“The decision is made, Abby.” Pike shakes his head. “You won’t change my mind.”

“That’s not how we do things on the ground.” she hisses, turning around to face him. “We don’t…”

“In accordance with the Exodus Charter…” he insists and her sight flashes red.

“ _Fuck_ the Exodus Charter.” she snaps in an unusual bout of vulgarity. “That’s _not_ how we do things down here. We…” 

“That’s not how _you_ do things.” Pike cuts her off. “But _you_ ’re not Chancellor anymore, Doctor Griffin. I warned Kane. I warned him _plenty of times_. They’re traitors and we’re _at_ _war_. Examples have to be made.”

She shakes her head. She wants to be strong, to _sound_ strong, to be the leader she is supposed to be and not… _this_. Not the wife pleading for her husband’s life. She’s been there before. She’s done that. She knows there is no positive outcome waiting at the end of the meeting. “Not like this. _Not_ like this. Keep them under locks or…”

“I do not take advices from you, Doctor.” Pike interrupts her, a hand lifted to force her into silence. “You’re not a member of the Council anymore. The decision _is made_. They will be executed tomorrow.”

That’s a dismissal, she knows, but she doesn’t move from where she stands. She stays there and stares, searching what else she can do or offer. She would kneel and crawl and beg. She would do this and a thousand other things.

“ _Please_.” she whispers. “Don’t do this. He’s your friend.”

That too is a familiar line she used once upon a time, right before Jake was forced into the airlock.

His face softens but she detects no wavering in his resolve. “I’m sorry, Abby. _Really_. I wish it didn’t have to go down like this.”

_I could kill you_ , she wants to say.

There’s a paperknife on the desk. Something Marcus brought back from Mount Weather and they never really had a use for. It’s not far. She’s a doctor, she knows where to hit. She _could_.

But she’s no warrior and he would see her coming, he would stop her, and she would be thrown in jail with Marcus and the others. What help would it be to anyone? _None_. She’s more useful out there.

She considers it though.

And it’s shocking enough on its own.

“He requested to see you before it happens.” Pike declares, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s against protocol but…”

“Family is allowed to say goodbye.” She hears herself say. “We’re allowed to be there for the execution. According to your _precious_ Charter.”

Her sight is blurred but she blinks back the tears and bites on the inside of her cheek until the urge to cry disappear.

It won’t be the same thing.

It won’t be an airlock, it won’t be his body being dragged in space, it won’t be instantaneous and there won’t be Clarke in her arms to remind her she _at least_ has that much left.

“But you’re not family.” Pike argues.

She almost laughs.

Almost.

“I’m all the family he has and if you _think_ you can keep me away from him…” she growls.

“I will allow a meeting.” he cuts her off. “But you won’t be there for the execution.” She glares and he shakes his head. “For _your own good_. A bullet in the head is never pretty.”

She flinches at the words.

She didn’t spare a thought to _how_ they would do it.

She wants to throw up.

She barely notices him opening the door or awkwardly waiting for her to _leave_.

Jaha had the decency to sit her down and provide some alcohol last time she did this. He listened to everything she had to say even though she knew at the time it wouldn’t make a difference, he was _kind_ when he told her the decision was made.

Pike isn’t a kind man. He used to be, she supposed, once. Before the Ground. The Ground changed everything. The Ground changed them all.

“You will regret this.” she warns as she leaves the war room.

“Don’t threaten me.” Pike retorts. “He swore you had nothing to do with this conspiracy but I’ve seen enough to know your Chancellorship was a two heads thing. Traitors will pay with their lives from now on. Keep that in mind.”

She clenches her jaw and walks on, her head high. The corridor is full of people that have no business being there and who aren’t being very subtle in their curiosity.

Privately she thinks Pike doesn’t want a public execution because nobody will stand for Marcus being killed, not after _everything_. They will be _scared_ into submission, maybe, but fear is not a reliable way to rule. All Pike will succeed in doing is turning Marcus into a martyr. And it will bring her no comfort.

She’s four corridors away from the war room and not quite sure where she is headed when Bellamy falls into steps with her. “Are you alright?”

She answers that stupid question with _a look_ that always prompts Clarke to do as she is told – or at least it _used_ to make her do as she’s told. “Do you have a plan yet?”

“Working on it.” he promises.

 “Work faster.” she demands, quickening her steps to leave the boy behind.

Her head is high and her eyes are dry.

This won’t be like last time.

She has nothing to lose now.

She will save him if it’s the last thing she does.


	29. 5 Times Clarke Witnesses A Private Moment and 1 Time Marcus and Abby do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some stupid little story revolving around Clarke and kabby ;)

* * *

**1.**

* * *

 

The rover was going fast but no one strapped in the back berated Miller about it. Nathan had a jerky driving style but he was the only one from the people currently in the car who could drive properly without stalling every two minutes. Clarke put _learning to drive_ on her list of things to do, right under _saving the world_ and after _taking a shower_. There were priorities.

She glanced at the tensed faces around, her eyes lingered on Bryan who was wincing with every jolt but making a good show of not looking _that_ injured anymore – he had had to plead to be allowed to travel. She waited for her mother to tell Nathan to slow down but that never happened. Abby wasn’t really looking at her patient, she was clenching the edge of her seat, her gaze lost in the distance.

It was Clarke who called to Nathan to slow down a little, even if that meant they would take longer reaching camp. She was impatient to talk to Raven. Everything since the City of Light fell had been going terribly slow. She had told the others about the nuclear threat but there had been no real time to properly sit down and start planning, not with so many injured.

Kane and Bellamy had put together a small group and had gone back to Arkadia a week or so earlier – dragging a hastily patched up Jaha with them because nobody was confident he wouldn’t get mauled to death by the crowd. Everyone who could work as a healer had stayed behind in Polis. Indra and Roan were trying to get some order back in the city but it was difficult, the Grounders had no Heda left and they were lost. They had turned to Clarke because she was Wanheda, because she had ascended, like it or not, and because Titus had entrusted _her_ with the flame.

It might be easier in the long run to play Wanheda, to get the Grouders’ cooperation. They would need peace in the times to come. Right now, she needed to gather everyone and talk things through, to try and find some options. She had left Murphy behind in Polis as a stand-in Flamekeeper, hoping he wouldn’t double-cross her. She had also told Octavia to keep an eye on things until Indra or Roan or both could make the trip to Arkadia with the rest of the sky people. Jackson had been left in charge of the makeshift Medical in Polis. They should follow in a few days.

If everything went according to plan. And _when_ did it _ever_?

Her mother had wanted to stay but Clarke had insisted. She wasn’t sure she would respect whatever conclusion the Council agreed to but they needed to talk it over. _They_ were the Council now. _They_ needed to decide. It was a heavy burden to shoulder but one Clarke was weirdly starting to get used to.

She leaned in her mother’s space a little, recoiling when Abby startled.

“Sorry.” she said, too aware everyone was looking at them. “Are you alright?”

It was tentative. They hadn’t found a lot of time to talk between patients to see and doomsday discussions to have. Clarke had lost count of the number of times she had caught her staring at the wounds on her chest with a self-loathing expression on her face, she had also lost count of the number of times she had promised Abby it hadn’t been _her_. She thought her mother _knew_ that deep down but that it was difficult for her to see beyond the pain she had caused. It certainly was difficult for _Clarke_ not to stare at the ugly heavy bruising around Abby’s neck.

“I’m fine.” her mother offered with a small smile. It was a lie. Children couldn’t always tell when their parents were lying but Clarke wasn’t a child anymore and she could see this was meant at making _her_ feel better, as if it was _still_ Abby’s job to make sure she was alright. Although she supposed it would always look like that for her mother.

“We’ll be there soon.” Nathan offered from the driver seat.

Abby nodded but didn’t look comforted by the prospect. Maybe she was nervous, Clarke decided. She had been chipped when she had left Arkadia and before that… Well, with Pike in command, the rebellion, and their friends being sentenced to death, it couldn’t have been easy. Her heart clenched painfully at the memory of Lincoln’s pointless murder. She couldn’t say she blamed Octavia. If it had been her… She might have done the same thing.

It was night by the time the rover drove into camp. Nathan stopped it right in the middle of the courtyard, muttering that Raven or Monty could park it properly because he wasn’t going to deal with them accusing him of breaking their toys or scratching the paint.

Bellamy was the one who had opened the gates and he was the first to greet her, with a hug and an anxious once over, as if he was scared she had been up to no good while he was gone and had gotten hurt in the process.

“I’m still in one piece.” she snorted. “Mostly.”

He smirked but she could tell he wasn’t amused. “Good.”

Everyone scattered, unloading the rover, catching up with the people who had come to greet them… Clarke looked around, still finding it odd to find herself back at Arkadia, and caught sight of her mother who was doing a very good job at stalling by checking and rechecking her bag right next to the truck: she was emptying its content on the ground, tossing covert glances toward the mess hall. And, sure enough, right in front of the mess hall was _Kane_. He was nodding at whatever Bellamy was reporting but his eyes were on her mother.

Both of them looked so uncertain that Clarke rolled her eyes and marched toward Abby who glanced up at her with a smile that was _absolutely_ fake. As if her own daughter couldn’t tell.

“Whatever happened between you two, it was all ALIE.” she said, not bothering with diplomacy.

Apparently, it wasn’t the right thing to say because, if her mother finally stood up, she also _winced_. Abby didn’t have the luxury of answering though because suddenly Kane was there and Clarke didn’t know why she was surprised. _Of course_ he wouldn’t let her mother shy away from her friends just because she had done horrible things while chipped. She reciprocated his hesitant nod with one of her own and got busy repacking the bag Abby had been emptying in an attempt to stall.

“Chancellor.” he greeted her mother, his voice strangely tentative.

Crouching on the ground to cram everything back in the bag, Clarke rolled her eyes.

“That’s _you_.” Abby frowned.

“You were our last one.” Kane shrugged. “Pike’s dead so, according to the Charter…”

“I swear if anyone else quotes the Exodus Charter to me _one more time_ …” her mother growled and Clarke lifted her eyebrows in surprise. She didn’t know who had pissed Abby off with the Charter but they better stay out of the doctor’s way if they knew what was good for them. “We agreed it was your turn. And, _no_ , we are _not_ having elections this time around. If I’m the rightful Chancellor, I’m officially giving you the title. You’re the Chancellor now. Congratulations.”

There was some irony and a lot of pain in her mother’s voice. Clarke looked up but they weren’t paying her any attention anyway, they were staring at each other, almost hostile. Well… Abby looked almost hostile. As if she didn’t know how to deal with the whole situation.

She had hurt Kane under ALIE’s orders, Clarke figured. She had hurt Kane like she had hurt _her._

“I’m not sure I’m the right one for…” he started, averting his eyes.

“You _are_.” Abby cut him off, reaching for his arm. She shied away from it before she made contact, she dropped her hand but her voice softened. “You are, Marcus.” A hesitant smile played on her lips. “I think we lost the pin. It’s been the _official_ pin for almost _a century_ , you know. It’s probably considered a humanity treasure or something…”

The tension left Kane’s shoulders and he smiled back, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “It figures we would be the ones to lose it, then. That’s how we will go down in history. The Chancellors who lost the pin.”

“Probably.” Abby chuckled before looking down at her feet.

For a moment, Clarke couldn’t tell if the air between them was cleared or not. She found it hard to figure out how they worked. On the Ark, they had mostly spent all their time arguing – _even_ when Kane was there to spend some time with her father, they _always_ found things to argue about, to the point Jake used to say that, when they agreed on something, it was probably best to have it passed into law _at once_ – but Clarke had never spared a second thought for the other councilman. And after that, on the Ground… She had found a surprising ally in Kane but she had never really looked further. He and her mother were obviously close friends, she didn’t know how or when that had happened but she knew better than most that some circumstances made you best friends with people you never knew you could come to like. Case in point : Bellamy.

She didn’t dare move though because they had completely forgotten about her and she didn’t want to disturb whatever moment they were having. They would need everyone on board to face the radiation threat and that meant they didn’t need anyone being at odds with anyone else.

When Kane reached out though, her eyes widened a little. He fingered the lapel of Abby’s jacket where the Chancellor pin used to be.

“Does it matter who wears it?” he asked, his voice impossibly vulnerable. “We said… Are we still doing this together, Abby?”

There seemed to be a veiled question underneath. He was asking one thing but it obviously meant another and she was confused.

Her mother covered his hand with hers, finally looking up at him. Clarke couldn’t quite interpret her gaze. There was longing in there and regret and a thousand things in between, but most importantly there was _love_. She knew what love in her mother’s eyes looked like. And _this_ , this was _very much_ that.

_Oh_.

Somewhere somehow, she had missed something.

_Close friends_ might not be just that after all.

“If you want us to.” Abby whispered, her free hand coming to rest on his cheek before trailing down to his neck and finally finding a resting place on his shoulder.

He took a step forward and alarm bells started ringing in Clarke’s head. They were going to kiss. Kane was going to kiss her mom. Right there, right now. Right in front of her. _They were going to kiss_.

And her first instinctive reaction was: _ew_.

Because she loved her mom and she had no major problem with Kane but, _seriously_ , the thought of watching her mother get smooched by a man was… _Not good_.

She cleared her throat and stood up, not even trying to stop herself and not feeling sorry for interrupting their moment. They bolted apart guiltily. Abby’s cheeks were flushed crimson and Kane didn’t seem to be able to look at anyone in the eyes and Clarke had to resist the very childish impulse to just say: ‘yes, I’m still here, thank you for _finally_ noticing before you could provide me with additional trauma’. Because she was an adult, she swallowed back that urge.

“So, who’s Chancellor then?” she asked instead, trying to keep her voice even despite her own blush.

The two of them shared a look and then Kane shrugged with a smile. “Both of us. Together. We’ll co-lead.”

That was unusual and _probably_ illegal but Clarke was right next to her mother in the _let’s forget the Exodus Charter_ camp so she accepted that without difficulty.

“Good.” she approved. “Let’s get to work.”

She handed the now repacked bag to Abby and hurried in fleeing the scene, not trusting them to _behave_ like proper adults. They certainly looked like they wanted nothing else but to be alone.

She ran into Raven a few feet away. The mechanic took the time to hug her before looking at her with a frown. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Clarke made a face. “No. Just my mom and Kane.”

“Were they eye fucking?” Raven chuckled. “They do that a lot.”

Clarke sighed.

Maybe it would have been easier to remain on the run.

* * *

 

**2.**

* * *

 

The sound of voices woke her up even though they were doing their best to actually _whisper_. Clarke curled up a little more on the bed she now shared with her mother – because space was a problem with so many Grounders staying in Arkadia – muffling a groan in her pillow. She couldn’t remember the last time she had managed to sleep through the night. And nightmares weren’t to blame anymore. There were emergencies all the time. When it wasn’t someone fetching Abby for a medical issue, it was about a Chancellor problem, and when it wasn’t about _that_ , it was _Clarke_ people were looking for, to mediate between Grounders and Arkers or because there was something she needed to do or know. It was _exhausting_.

“We need to decide what to do with Jaha…” Kane’s voice floated to her. “We can’t keep him in lock-up forever.”

_Jaha_. Jaha was a piece of work. Clarke had hoped he would have valuable information given that he had been the first to take the chip and the closest thing to a right hand ALIE had kept, but all the former Chancellor had to say was that they shouldn’t have stopped the AI, that the City of Light would have been their salvation and that they had doomed them all. They couldn’t tell if it was the chip messing with his brain or if he was completely crazy. Abby was betting on apoxia from the time he had spent in space. Whatever the reason, Jaha was no help.

An entire month had gone without them making any progress. Her mother was working on the nightblood thing, hoping to find a medical solution to this and, so far, it seemed like the most promising avenue. They were launching scouring parties, trying to find safe places to hide in if worst came to worst. Another Mount Weather would have come in handy. The Grounders were helping and, for now, the truce was holding. She thought about Lexa sometimes and how proud she would have been to see this. Her legacy had been peace after all.

“We should banish him.” her mother sighed. “It’s not ideal but…”

“I agree.” Kane offered. His voice softened. “You look tired… You’re not sleeping properly.”

She opened an eye to confirm her suspicions. They were standing on the room’s threshold, Abby was leaning against the doorframe, in the frayed pajama bottoms and the tank top she wore to bed, her hair draped over her shoulder in a hasty braid. She couldn’t see Kane properly, he was mostly in the corridor and the door wasn’t entirely open.

“Are you tracking me, Chancellor?” Abby grinned, an odd purr in her voice.

Clarke rolled her eyes. Adults shouldn’t be allowed to _flirt_. And certainly not where _she_ could hear them. Raven had warned her they were unbearable and Bellamy had advised to _knock_ before walking in their office – she didn’t want to know what _he_ had interrupted, she really didn’t – but this was taking the cake. Chancellors were supposed to be busy, so were doctors and commanders of the guards… And they _were_ busy. So how was it possible that she found herself embarrassed _at least_ once a day?

“I’m tracking everybody, Abby.” Kane replied on the same tone. Her mother chuckled. 

Clarke rolled her eyes harder.

_How_ was this her life?

There was movement. It was too dark to say for sure but she thought Kane leaned in and she actively rolled on her other side, thinking it was _better_ to keep her back turned. Unfortunately, she still had ears. And there was no denying the kissing sounds.

“Clarke’s here.” Abby murmured finally, between two – _absolutely disgusting –_ lips locking noises.

_Clarke’s awake_ , she almost said, just because her only guilty pleasure lately was to embarrass them just as much as _she_ was embarrassed by their displays of affection – to be fair, it wasn’t like they were flashing it to the world but she seemed to have _a gift_ to walk in on them being either mushy or aggressively kissing, no in-between. Sometimes, when things like that happened, she felt like she was the mother and Abby the teenager. She wasn’t enjoying the role reversal.

“I know.” Kane mumbled. “It’s just… I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” Abby confessed, sounding pained. “Can we go to your room?”

“No… I’m still rooming with Bellamy.” he said and the longing in his voice turned to seriousness. “I don’t think it’s getting better with Octavia.”

Octavia was a time bomb waiting to happen, Clarke mused, and nothing anybody could say would help. Killing Pike might have satisfied her thirst for revenge for a time but it had done nothing for her grief. She was still hostile to Bellamy, trying to goad him into fights… She had physically assaulted him twice and had to be restrained away. Indra’s influence helped some but not enough.

Kane had ordered Bellamy to move in with him because he didn’t trust Octavia not to try and murder her brother during the night. He had tried to talk to O but as close as she had grown to Kane in the last year, the girl had pulled away from him too. It had never been openly said she was blaming him for letting Lincoln go to his death but it had been heavily implied.

Clarke had tried to reach out but Octavia was still angry with her, she was angry with the world.

“I was thinking maybe you could talk to her.” Kane suggested.

“Me?” Abby frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” he insisted. Clarke heard the shuffling of fabric and she figured he was awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he was prone to do when he was _really_ feeling ill-at-ease. “You went through the same thing. Maybe…”

“Marcus, the man she loved died while the man I love was escaping.” she retorted. “Trust me, I’m the last person she wants to talk about this with.”

There was a long silence.

Clarke shared the sentiment wholeheartedly.

She wasn’t sure if those words had been spoken before even though they were obvious. It was in every look they shared, in every touch, in every sentence…

Eventually Kane cleared his throat, sounding even more embarrassed than before. “Actually I was thinking about…”

His sentence trailed off and there was another silence.

_Her father_ , Clarke mused. He had been thinking about _Jake_. But in her mother’s head _the man she loves_ now equaled to _Kane_ and not _Jake_. She didn’t know how she felt about that.

“Oh.” Abby breathed out. “I’m sorry I…”

“No, it’s me…” Kane protested. “It’s… Look… Abby, I love you too. Of course, I do… I… ”

Clarke had to suppress a snort.

_So much for romance_.

There were more kissing noises.

She considered trying to smother herself with the pillow.

“How about the war room?” Abby hummed, out of breath, eagerness in her voice. “There’s the couch and…”

“Yes.” Kane agreed immediately, between more kissing sounds. “Yes, let’s go.”

“Yes.” Clarke deadpanned, rejoicing in the sudden stillness behind her back. “ _Please_ , go.”

“Honey…” her mother winced.

“You know what?” she replied, staring at the wall, struck by a stroke of genius. “First thing tomorrow I’m moving in Kane’s room. I’ll make sure Octavia doesn’t sneak in to kill Bellamy in his sleep. Bellamy won’t rant to me about Kane complaining he leaves their room in a mess anymore. You get to have your boyfriend here whenever you want. And I don’t have to hear anything I don’t want to hear. Everybody wins.”

Except Kane who was losing his room but salvation came at a price and Clarke _really_ wanted her peace and quiet, so he could pay it.

* * *

 

**3.**

* * *

 

“So, did the mud treatment work, Princess?” Bellamy mocked, as soon as she flopped on the chair in front of him. “Did it do marvels for your skin?”

The mess hall was loud and full to the brink and she was glad he had found them a table but she glared all the same. The last scouring party had ended in disaster. They had found a bunker – far too small to help, it had probably been designed for a family or two – but it had been raining hard and she had lost her footing. Finding herself sitting in a puddle of mud hadn’t been fun despite the fact everyone in the party had had a laugh at her expense, even the Grounders who still called her Wanheda and feared her for her supposed powers. _That_ was how ridiculous she had looked.

She figured it had at least helped relieve some tension. They weren’t any closer to finding a solution although her mother was making progress on the medical front – they had hunted and gathered as many nightbloods as they could – and _fun_ was becoming a foreign concept.

“I used all the hot water.” she declared with a triumphant grin.

Rooming with Bellamy was easier than she had thought it would be. Well… It was easier on some fronts and harder on others.

His eyes were riveted to her mouth and she instinctively licked her lips, looking away from him.

_Naturally_ , the first thing she saw was her mother and Kane who were apparently unable to behave properly. Granted nobody was looking at them and they weren’t _outwardly_ doing anything. But it was all in the gazes and the _so-called_ innocent touches they exchanged.

Kane was sitting at the bar and Abby was standing close, almost between his legs really. They were looking at a data pad, both frowning and talking in turn. Then one of them would look up, their eyes would meet and the frowns would unconsciously morph into small secret smiles. At some point, Abby reached to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear and Kane beat her to it.

It was all very sweet.

“I wish they would keep it behind closed doors.” she sighed.

Bellamy followed her gaze and frowned a little. “You don’t think it’s a good thing?”

His tone was a bit frosty and she crossed her arms defensively. “No, it’s not that. They’re good together. It’s just… It’s weird to see my mom like that. With someone who’s not my dad, you know?” He hesitated before nodding his understanding, thanking the woman who brought them their allotted food. She thought he was grateful for the reprieve because he dug in with an enthusiasm that the plain vegetables didn’t warrant. She sighed. “What?”

“Nothing.” he answered at once, betraying the fact that there _was_ , in fact, something.

“Bellamy.” she said firmly, not quite an order but close.

He shot her an annoyed look and then shrugged, keeping his eyes on his plate. “You weren’t there, that’s all. This didn’t happen out of the blue. After Mount Weather… Your mom wasn’t in the best place.”

“I don’t think anyone was in the best place.” she remarked, stabbing a green bean with her fork.

“Kane took care of her.” he insisted. “And they took care of everyone. And then… We found farm station and everything went to hell.”

He dropped his fork to reach for his glass of water, his face a mask of guilt.

“It’s done, Bellamy.” she reminded him. “You have to let it go.”

“I know.” he sighed. “But… It wasn’t _real_ until Pike sentenced them to death. It didn’t _feel_ real until then. And your mom… When I told her…”

“ _You_ told her?” she winced.

“She slapped me.” he admitted. “Honestly, I deserved worse.”

She didn’t offer a comment because… She could guess what it had been like for Abby. Losing her father had been terrible. Then she had lost Finn. And then Lexa. Grief wasn’t something you got used to.

“It was like watching her whole world crumble to dust.” he went on. “I thought she was going to murder Pike in cold blood. Then she pulled herself together and we planned the rescue but… For a moment there, I thought we had lost her for good. I really think she loves him.”

“I _know_ she loves him.” she countered. “And he makes her _happy_. And more importantly, he keeps her safe. And all that are good things. I’m happy for them, _I am_. I just wish they wouldn’t be so mushy in front of me.” 

“They’re not _that_ mushy.” he snorted.

“They’re being mushy right now.” she insisted, pointing at them with her fork.

Bellamy glanced at them but they were currently staring at the data pad with matching focused looks and not at all busy exchanging looks or smiles. _Of course_. Right when she needed them to prove her point, they _had_ to act professional.

He rolled his eyes at her with obvious amusement.

“He loves her too, you know.” he said very seriously.

Bellamy Blake: Marcus Kane’s champion. She wasn’t sure when that had happened either. A lot of things had happened during the months she had spent away.

“How do you know?” she asked out of curiosity.

“The Griffin’s charm is hard to resist.” he snorted.

She smiled, averting her eyes, pleased despite the nagging doubts.

“You can stop defending him, you know. I know he loves her.” she promised. It would have been difficult to see the way Kane watched her mom and _not_ understand he loved her. “Like I said. They’re good together. It’s all good. I’m happy for them.”

She just _wished_ she didn’t know the way Kane was guiding her mom out of the hall right now, with his hand on the small of her back, meant they were probably going to have sex.

Because that was information she _didn’t_ need to know.

* * *

 

**4.**

* * *

 

She knew even before she barged in that it was a bad idea.

She had been too caught up in the news Raven had just imparted, had been too eager to share with her mother, had been too much in a hurry to call for a Council meeting – the Council mostly being Abby, Marcus, Bellamy, Raven, Monty and her nowadays.

The door was neither closed nor locked but she had also discovered – in a handful of _unpleasant_ encounters – that it didn’t guaranty safety. And yet she was too focused on _the world possibly ending_ to stop and think about what she would interrupt.

“Guys, there’s…” she started only to shriek when she caught sight of what was happening. “ _Oh my god!_ Can’t you _close the freaking door?!”_

She pressed her hands to her eyes, vowing to locate the nearest barrel of bleach. Bellamy kept telling her she was acting like a terrifying commander of death one second only to revert to a brat the next, every time her mother and _her boyfriend_ were concerned, but she had decided very early on that the situation was _plain_ weird and that she was entitled to her childish reactions.

“I’m so sorry!” Abby squealed, pushing Kane away and hopping off the desk.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. We still have clothes on.” he grumbled. Clarke peered out from behind her hands in time to see her mother whack his arm. He rolled his eyes with open fondness and granted: “This time.”

“We need to get the Council together. Raven has news.” she declared, once she had made sure there was _nothing_ she didn’t want to see.

“I’ll arrange it. Ten minutes in the council room.” Kane offered, trailing his hand on her mother’s arm before leaving.

It was awkward once he was gone, mainly because Clarke didn’t know what to say. It was difficult to tell who was blushing harder. Abby was fixing her slightly askew jacket and Clarke was looking everywhere but at the desk.

“I _am_ sorry.” her mother insisted. “We got carried away and…”

“I _really_ don’t want to know, Mom.” she cringed, wondering if _she_ was expected to give the speech about sex and responsibilities now that Abby was acting like she was twenty instead of forty.

Her mother studied her for a long moment and Clarke avoided her eyes, uncomfortable with the sudden scrutiny. Their relationship was better but it’s still wasn’t what it used to be. They didn’t talk about their _real personal_ issues – and Kane was very much a _real personal issue_.

“I never asked you…” Abby hesitated. “Are you alright with me and Marcus being…”

“Yes.” she cut her off and because it seemed to please her – and also because it was true – she added. “I like him.”

Abby’s smile could have probably powered the wreckage of the Ark for a week.

* * *

 

**5.**

* * *

 

Medical was quiet.

There were some coughs and some sniffing with the occasional snoring, all normal noises in a packed infirmary at night. It was a comforting sound to wake up too.

Clarke took a moment to ground herself, to remind herself the nightmare was over – _for now_ at least. They had found a way to protect themselves from radiations. There had been battles, of course, when were there none? And difficult moments. And fear. She remembered the fear most of all. For her friends, for her family…

She didn’t quite remember _how_ she had ended up in Medical with sore ribs but she sat up anyway. The room was dark and she flung her legs off the bed, waving Jackson off when he immediately moved as if to leave the patient he was seeing to. She was fine. More than fine.

She made her way to the doctor’s office, knowing that was where her mother would be – where else? She wanted to see her mother. Abby had been instrumental in finding the key to the nightbloods’ explanation and she had been instrumental in helping protect the rest of them all. And she had risked her life in the process.

Clarke couldn’t have been out for long or there must have been more trouble happening after she was knocked out because Kane and her mother were locked in one of those embraces that usually only followed near death situations. The way he cradled her in his arms could only be described as _gentle_. She was on the tip of her toes, her arms were around his neck and he was bending down a little, an arm around her waist, his other hand cradling the back of her head, his face in her neck. They were swaying a little, _lightly_.

It made Clarke smile.

She would have come back later but when she stepped back, Kane lifted his head, probably alerted by the movement. He smiled at her, his eyes bright from exhaustion, and pressed a kiss to Abby’s head before stepping back. Her mother looked confused for a second, unsure of why he had broken the hug, and then she spotted her and she opened her arms.

It was childish but Clarke ran into them willingly.

Death had been a little too close for comfort.

“It’s over, baby…” Abby whispered just like when she was little and had had a nightmare. “It’s over now…”

She let herself be comforted by her mother’s embrace, closing her eyes, not protesting when Kane placed a hand on each of their shoulders, closing the circle without invading their moment.

For once, she wasn’t sorry she had walked in on them.

This was a time for family.

And Kane was definitely part of the family now.  

* * *

 

**6.**

* * *

 

There was _definitely_ something to be said in favor of the couch in the war room.

Clarke wasn’t sure how she and Bellamy had ended up from arguing next to the map to violently kissing on the couch, hands tearing at clothes, but she also figured it had been a long time in coming so the actual logistic wasn’t important.

The couch was comfortable under her back and the heavy weight of Bellamy was more than enough to fry her brain, never mind what he was doing with his fingers…

She didn’t register the voices until it was too late.

There was a gasp – her mother – and a deep and angry _“Bellamy”_ – that was Kane.

Clarke’s first instinct was to dive for her shirt and cover herself while Bellamy winced, bare-chested, faced with two angry looking Chancellors. Although, truth be told, Abby looked more amused than angry. Kane looked thunderous.

“Get out of the war room and, _please,_ don’t do that in public places.” he half commanded and half requested.

“Yes, sir.” Bellamy answered immediately, scrambling to his feet and pulling her up in the same move. Clarke let him because she was too busy lifting her eyebrows at him with a smirk.

“Payback isn’t so cool, is it, Kane?” she grinned innocently.

Her mother bit down on her bottom lip to hide her amusement.

Bellamy dragged her out of the room before their Chancellor could reply.

“Did you _have_ to provoke him?” he grumbled. “He’s going to put me on night patrol for weeks now.”

“It should teach him to close doors when he and my mom are…” She made a face. “I don’t want to think about that now.”

Bellamy flashed her a smile. “I think he was territorial about the couch. There are _so many_ bets around that couch.”

“I don’t want to know.” she insisted. “Where are we going?”

“Our room?” he hesitated, as if unsure she would say yes.

Her only answer was to quicken her steps, almost racing him to it.


	30. Hand To Hand Combat Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give kabby shippers an old picture of Ian training and they request kabby in the gym ;) Warning for steam and this takes place between S2 and S3.   
> I hope everyone likes it! Let me know.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” she winced, quickly tying her hair in a tight braid that wouldn’t get in the way of what they were about to do.

The gym wasn’t her favorite place to be. It used to smell like sweat, moistness and, strangely enough, dirty socks when they were in space and it didn’t smell much better now that they were on the Ground. You would think you would get used to the smell after a while and stop noticing it but Abby was still waiting for that to kick in – and she had been visiting the room every day for about a month.

Physiotherapy had been hard but after Mount Weather, she had _badly_ needed it. Exercises to help with the hip that had been painful in themselves – and had caused her to snap at Jackson more than once until, one day, he simply hadn’t showed up and she had found herself face to face with Marcus Kane instead. Marcus was a lot less easier to scare away and she had weirdly felt a lot more comfortable shouting abuse at him because of the pain she had been in, he had never flinched and he had never caved in to her demands no matter how many times she had sworn she hated him.

The rehab exercises had eventually turned to stretching sessions, once she had been better, and Abby had to admit she liked the hour and a half spent in the gym every day – _despite_ the smell – mainly because it gave them a time to catch up that wasn’t about camp, Grounders or even her still missing daughter, but about them and their friendship. They talked, they joked, they reminisced about the past and people they had both known and loved…

It was all very nice.

And she was satisfied with running on a treadmill or just stretching while he lifted weights – she was _very_ satisfied with that because the view was never a bad one, all the more the rare few times he had actually taken his shirt off. So _why_ did he have to go and have a ridiculous idea like _boxing_?

Her only comforting thought was that, at least, they were alone in the room. There would be no witnesses to that unfortunate experiment.

“It’s a good idea.” he promised, dragging more mats in the center of the room to create a safe place to train. “I would feel better if you knew how to defend yourself.”

“But _boxing_?” she whined.

“It’s not _boxing_ , it’s hand to hand combat.” he corrected, flashing her a smile. “And it will be fun.”

She stared at him, not at all convinced.

“My idea of fun is a good book and a glass of wine.” she replied. “ _Or_ sharing drinks with friends. Or even a hike through the woods if you really want to do some exercising. My idea of fun is _not_ fighting.”

He pushed the last mat in place and wiped his hands on his pants.

“We can have a drink after.” he told her.

“No, we _can’t_.” she sighed. “Because after we will have to review reports and face whatever emergency the camp has in store for us today.”

And there were _plenty_ of emergencies – or so-called emergencies – every day.

“Trust me, Abby.” he requested. “This might save your life someday.”

“Let’s hope not because we both know I am going to be hopeless at this.” she declared, stepping on the mats. “Let’s get this over with, I’m ready. Teach me.”

He started by teaching her what to do if someone grabbed her from behind and while she was very doubtful about managing to throw him over her shoulder no matter how many times he repeated it was all about stealing _his_ strength and _his_ power and turning it against him, she must have to admit there were worse things than having Marcus’s front plastered to her back for a long amount of time.

All the more so given that, to try and throw him over her shoulder, she needed to bend and push back with her hips and _that_ was something _he_ clearly enjoyed.

“I’m starting to see where the fun is.” she teased, as he tried and _failed_ to angle his own hips away from her.

“Abby…” he mumbled, sounding all apologetic. 

She took advantage of his distraction. To be honest, she didn’t think it would work and it shocked her when she managed to toss him on the floor. He didn’t go over her shoulder and she wasn’t quite sure how she had managed it but he _did_ end up flat on his back.

“Good!” he praised, sounding almost as surprised as she was. “Now, you need to make sure…” She dropped on him without grace, straddling his hips, her hands wrapped tight around his wrists. He blinked, obviously taken aback. “What are you doing?”

“ _Making sure_.” she grinned. “You won’t get up now. I won.”

She figured her position must have been sloppy because, next thing she knew, _she_ was flat on her back, he was straddling her thighs, his feet hooked around her knees to keep her legs down, and both of her wrists were trapped high over her head. He was bent over her, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on her skin.

“You were saying, Chancellor?” he mocked, a teasing smile on his lips.

“I won.” she repeated, not losing her grin. “I think you like rolling on the floor with me and this was all a cunning plan to get me there.”

It was hard not to notice he was enjoying this – pun intended.

He searched her eyes, probably not sure if she was angry with him or not. She briefly pushed her hips up, grinning harder when his breath caught and his fingers automatically clenched around her wrists. He released his grip and propped himself on his elbows, slowly leaning in, leaving her plenty of times to say no…

The first brush of his lips was tentative.

The second wasn’t.

She buried her fingers in his hair and brought his head down. Their mouths crashed together, hungry and eager. The kiss got out of control _fast_ , turning into another and another until Abby forgot why it would have been a bad idea to shed clothes right then and there. Her free hand was already roaming on his back, under his shirt, inching the fabric up… He groaned against her mouth when she trailed it down to his butt and _squeezed_.

They were both wriggling their hips like inexperienced teenagers, looking for friction, for a _release_ to the building ache… And yet neither of them was too far gone to think it was a good idea to give in to that.

How long before someone walked in on them?

How embarrassing would it be to be caught behaving like animals rolling on the floor?

And _still_ it wasn’t enough to stop them.

It was Abby who put an end to it, clinging to her last shred of sanity. She flipped them over. And _somehow_ it was even worse because she found herself lying on his chest, between his legs, and it gave her _ideas_.

“See?” she triumphed, a bit light-headed and her lips bruised from his kisses. The skin around her mouth was prickling a little and she decided she could get used to stubble burns. “I win.”

“It’s a matter of perspective.” he chuckled, brushing her braid back over her shoulder, looking a bit dazzled himself. “We should…”

He didn’t actually finish that thought but she didn’t need him to.

“Yes.” she agreed with obvious regret, getting back to her feet and outstretching a hand to help him up. He didn’t release her fingers once he was upright again though, he tugged her closer, his eyes on her mouth, and licked his lips. She laughed, ducking her head. “If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it out of this room.”

“Would that be that so bad?” he whispered. She knew he was joking – _mostly_.

“The smell is.” she smirked. “And I’m not having sex on the floor when I have a bed in my room.”

Something flashed on his face. _Yearning_ or _lust_ , she wasn’t sure. As if he hadn’t been certain she would want to see where this was going.

She definitely wanted to see.

She was eager for more _hand to hand_ combat lessons.


	31. The Glasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Marcus and glasses… I had to write it. For SCIENCE. Beware smut.

He could feel the headache beginning to pulse behind his left eye. He sighed and felt around the clutter on the desk without taking his gaze off the report from engineering. Not that it made a lot more sense once the brand new glasses Abby insisted he needed were on his nose and the letters stopped blurring together. He missed Sinclair and the way he would always stick a post-it or scribble in the margins _actual_ explanations in _proper English_ instead of throwing a pile of complicated terms out there non-initiates had no hope of understanding.

He wasn’t used to the glasses yet. It had only been a week and he was still living in the delusion that _maybe_ Abby had made a wrong diagnosis.

It wasn’t him who had told her about the headaches. It was all the traitors who surrounded him – and, as Bellamy insisted, who only wanted the best for him – but he supposed she would have eventually noticed by herself anyway. They _did_ share a room after all.

She had showed up one day while he was attempting to help fix the fence and had dragged him to Medical without truly leaving him a choice – it was either following her or creating a scene that would alarm everyone in camp, something they were all desperately trying to avoid.

She had done so many exams, he had been dizzy by the end of it. She had been working herself into a panic but had been covering it under a professional calm and she had refused to look straight at him no matter what he had said to try and reassure her. It had been Jackson who had suggested the eye exam and she had been _so_ relieved when it had turned out his left eye just wasn’t seeing as well as his right eye that he had thought she would collapse. _Everything else is fine_ , she had kept repeating, _you’re fine_.

He wished he didn’t understand the fear behind it.

There had only been a few cases so far but there was no denying people were getting sick. It made everything more real somehow. He was never worried about himself, it was always about the others. Abby, the kids… He didn’t know what he would do if…

He chased those dark thoughts away and focused on the now _readable_ report, fumbling with the arms of the glasses. He didn’t know why he was having such a hard time with this. He needed glasses, it wasn’t the end of the world – _well…_ It wasn’t exactly the right time for a midlife crisis or realizing he was actually growing old. Curiously, he had an easier time accepting the grey hairs in his beard than he had the glasses. They felt heavy and unfamiliar and he didn’t last five more minutes before taking them off to rub the bridge of his nose. He studied the black square frames with a displeased pout.

“You can glare at them all you want, they’re staying.”

He looked up, a smile already on his lips, not sure how long Abby had been standing there. Long enough in any case that she was leaning against the doorframe with her arm folded. She smiled back and stepped in the war room, closing the door behind her. She perched herself on the small portion of the desk that wasn’t covered with reports, the side of her leg pressed against his. She snatched the glasses from his hand and pushed them back on his face.

“They work better on.” she teased.

He grabbed her hand before she could take it away and pressed a kiss on her inner wrist as a hello. She had already been gone that morning when he had woken up, off to Medical, and they hadn’t really had a chance to cross path that day. He had been stuck in the room all day, trying to get a hold on the paperwork he tended to neglect.

And, _yes_ , there probably was more urgent but Clarke and Bellamy had more or less put themselves in charge of the doomsday problem and tended to only share information when they deemed it relevant – which was not often. They were good at avoiding him when they wanted to.

“Did you already have dinner?” she asked, absentmindedly running the hand he had just kissed in his hair.

He shook his head with an apologetic shrug. “I need to make sense of this first.” He waved the engineering report. “Go on. I’ll catch up later.”

“I was thinking about turning in early.” She lifted her eyebrows in a very clear implication of what _turning in_ really meant but the invitation quickly turned into a frown. “Did you remember to have lunch?”

“How the tables have turned…” he chuckled. “Yes, Doctor Griffin, I remembered to have lunch.”

“Someone has to worry about your health, Chancellor Kane.” she retorted, fighting her smile. “I know paperwork is consuming.”

“It _is_.” he sighed. “And _boring_.”

He took off his glasses to rub his eyes and let his hand fall. She didn’t stand for it, she picked them up again and gently forced them back on his face.

“I don’t understand why you don’t like them.” she chided him. “They suit you.”

“They make me feel old.” He wrinkled his nose. It was probably one of the most shallow things she had heard him say but he couldn’t deny he had prided himself on the way he looked back on the Ark. He had found it absurd down on the Ground but back then… He had believed it was important to reflect a certain image. He didn’t anymore, not really. But the glasses…

“I think they make you look hot.” she said bluntly.

He frowned a little, surprised. “Really?” She stood up and he didn’t understand what she was doing until she had walked all the way back to the door and the lock had fallen into place. His frown deepened, a bit uncertain. “Abby…”

She strode right back to him, the sway of her hips _that_ little bit more purposeful, and she didn’t stop until she was standing between him and the desk, between his legs. She leaned in, propping her forearms against the back of his chair.

“Really, _really_ hot.” she confirmed, brushing her lips against his. He automatically angled his head the right way, his hands grabbing her hips. The glasses got in the way of the kissing which was annoying but if she liked them…

The kiss was dirty and her hands were in his hair, messing it up more than it already was. She had a _thing_ for his hair and he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. He didn’t really mean to tug on her hips but she straddled his lap without a second thought. She rocked against him and he groaned in her mouth, letting his head fall back when she moved her lips to his neck, her hand trailing down his chest to find the hem of his shirt and pulling it up.

“I really should finish the paperwork.” he mumbled, still lifting his arms to help her get rid of the shirt before pushing her jacket off her shoulders.

“Do you want to stop?” she grinned, already knowing the answer to that. When had he _ever_ been able to refuse her?

He glanced at the cluttered desk over her shoulder anyway because he was Chancellor and he should put his job first.

_They could be dead tomorrow_ …

Death lurking around the corner put everything back in perspective…

“Did you come here with a plan?” he accused, quickly pulling her shirt over her head and leaning in to press a few kisses on her chest, his fingers actively fumbling with the clasp of her bra. It gave easily enough and he tossed the plain black garment away. The two rings hanging from the necklace swayed a little between her breasts. He gently pushed them aside to press his lips against her skin, increasing his kisses.

“No.” she laughed, slightly breathless already. “It’s the glasses. I told you.”

The glasses were askew long before they got around to dealing with their pants. They had gotten a bit knocked off when he had closed his mouth on her nipple.  She was quick with her own remaining clothes and too impatient, she didn’t wait for him to take off his boots, she pushed everything down to his ankles and straddled him again, sliding on him with a blissful hiss.

They rested their foreheads against each other for a moment, savoring the brief moment of peace, until he couldn’t hold it anymore and his hips buckled. She chuckled and started moving, imposing them a slow rhythm that was simply _torture_. He couldn’t do anything about it though. He was completely at her mercy. His hands were on the back of her thighs, helplessly urging her on, hers found their way back to his hair and she guided his head up for a long kiss.

His heart was pounding, his skin was becoming clammy with sweat from the restraint she was demanding of him… His naked back was sticking to the leather of the desk chair… Her tongue was distracting. He squeezed her thigh without really meaning to and she bit down on his bottom lip in retaliation, nibbling and tugging it between her teeth before kissing him again.

He had never felt so _alive_.

_She_ made him feel so… _Alive_. 

“I love you.” he whispered between two kisses.

“I love you.” she answered without a single hesitation.

The thrusts became deeper, the tension was almost too much, rapture was so close it was almost painful not to rush to reach it…

He licked the drops of sweat from her neck, murmuring incoherent sweet nothings when she started losing it and pressed her forehead against his shoulder, her whimpers increasing. He put his left hand on her back, to ground her, and slipped his right hand between their bodies. At the first flick of his thumb, she dug her fingers in the flesh of his shoulder, begging him without ever actually saying what she wanted him to do, his name a desperate prayer on her lips…

He waited until he was sure to be ready himself to actually put the exact amount of pressure he knew would do the trick.

She came with a breathless gasp that was almost a sob. His sight flashed white and for a brief, amazing second, he was _weightless_.

The world slowly came back in focus, the edges of the room, the unpleasant feeling of the leather sticking to his back, the smell of sex in the air, and the loud echoes of their panting to catch their breath.

It was odd how time could warp sometimes, he thought, because for a while they had been completely cut off from the rest of the world. He couldn’t say how long. They had been in a bubble and nothing had existed except them.

He wrapped his arms tight around her, planting a kiss on her hair before propping his chin on her shoulder. The position couldn’t be entirely comfortable but she seemed content to remain where she was, her head in the crook of his neck. After a couple of minutes she shivered and he knew they needed to move. She would fall asleep, he would too probably, and they would catch a cold. They were sweaty and it wasn’t warm enough to sleep naked without at least a few blankets anyway.

“Dinner?” he suggested in her ear. Engineering could wait or provide him with reports he could _actually_ understand. He was hungry now and he didn’t want to let her go just yet. They had so little free time to share…  

She hummed her approval but didn’t move until he gently nudged her thigh. Then she stood up with a sigh, fished the tissues from the desk drawer and started the long process of getting cleaned up and dressed. It was probably telling they had started keeping tissues in their respective desk, he figured.

He wrapped an arm around her waist before she could unlock the door and pressed a few more kisses against her neck, just because it would be a couple of hours before he could do it again. She reached behind her to coil her hand around his nape, chuckling a little.

He didn’t need to ask to know she was happy.

The knowledge _he_ was making her happy made him want to roar with pride.

She made him happy too.

She turned her head to nuzzle his jaw, reaching up to adjust his glasses that weren’t completely straight on his nose.

“They’re for reading. You don’t need to wear them everywhere.” she reminded him.

“If you like them _so much_ , I’m never taking them off again.” he teased.

She laughed and he couldn’t help himself, he kissed her despite the awkward angle.

He could probably get used to the glasses, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Please let me know!


	32. A Case Of Accidental Stalking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request from my dear kabby friends so here you go ;) Thanks to Akachankami for the beta!

Marcus’ moves were mechanical, honed by the repetitive task. In the bucket with the solution and then up on the thin rope to dry. There were dozens of film rolls to develop and he was barely paying attention to the end result of his work, too busy pursing his lips at Bellamy in disapproval in the surrounding darkness.

He was strongly suspicious that the reason Bellamy had waited to tell him about the latest development until he had been busy with this was mainly because there was no way the kid could appreciate the full effect of his glaring in the basement turned darkroom. After all, he had been tending to his bonsai tree that very morning and the boy hadn’t been in any rush to tell him.

“I went to some length to get you that job.” he pointed out.

“I know.” Bellamy grumbled, carefully gathering the pictures on the rope so Marcus had enough room to put the newest bash.

“Some experience in security will go a long way on your resume when you apply for the forces.” he insisted.

“I _know_.” the kid sighed with irritation. _Irritation_. God saved him from moody young adults with a tendency for shoplifting he felt compelled to help – and later on _kind of_ adopt.

“You _say_ you know but you also say you might get fired and you don’t seem to care a lot about that.” he snapped. “Do you want to go back to being a janitor? I thought you wanted a career in the police.”

Bellamy glared and grabbed a new roll of film to start the tedious process of developing the pictures on it. “Not everyone can be a detective, Kane.”

Marcus simply rolled his eyes at that. “You are a brilliant young man when you want to be. Don’t set yourself up for failure like that.”

The kid sighed again and Marcus swallowed back a sigh of his own. Opening his house to Bellamy and his sister three years earlier had been the best thing he had ever done and he didn’t regret it one bit, he had _never_ regretted it, but there were days when he was sharply reminded he had no place trying to be a parent to kids he had no real authority over. Bellamy was extremely independent and resented his meddling. Octavia was easier in some ways and more difficult in others.

Juggling those two with his job as a Detective was often more than he could do. His hobbies often had to take a back seat and, of his two activities of choice, he often prioritized gardening if only because her mother had cared about that bonsai tree more than she had cared about anything else – excluding him – and it was the last thing he had of her. Photography, while being something he greatly enjoyed, was also something he didn’t have much time for. Often, he had to make do with trips to the nearby park which accounted for the fact most of the pictures were of the same water pond, benches, trees and rocks.

He didn’t really mind though. He enjoyed the idea of catching the perfect moment. A peaceful fall afternoon or a stormy June morning… It was all in the moment for him.

He and Bellamy worked in silence, in tune with the other, used to doing this together. Octavia had no patience for it and often scoffed at him for not getting a fancy digital camera instead of his old one – he _did_ have a digital camera but he enjoyed the actual _work_ that film rolls entailed. Bellamy, on the other hand, didn’t mind spending some quiet time with him.

Quiet time in his house was a thing of the past though.

Really, he should have expected the banging on the basement door.

“Kane, I’m hungry!” Octavia demanded. “What’s for dinner?”

 _Teenagers_ …

And _yet_ , in about a year and a half Octavia would leave for college, nobody would bother him with requests for food and he found the thought absolutely dreadful.

“I’ll finish.” Bellamy offered. “There’s only a couple of rolls left.”

“Thanks.” he answered with a small smile. The pictures probably weren’t masterpieces but it had been months since the last time he had checked his work. Rolls had been piling.

He was careful not to let the light spill in as he exited the basement, smiling despite himself at O’s antics. He started dinner, caving to her request for lasagnas, listening to her chatter while he cooked. She was not so subtly trying to convince him to let her throw a party when Bellamy came back up to the kitchen, tossing a pack of pictures on the counter with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Stalker much?” the boy joked.

Marcus put the dish in the oven, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Bellamy perched himself on a stool and pushed a picture in his direction. Bored with the subject, Octavia fished her phone off her pocket and started texting in earnest – Lincoln, Marcus figured.

He didn’t understand what he was looking at. The picture was from his favorite part of the park. The pond, its elusive fishes, the surrounding rocks, the usual people hanging out at the park on a weekend… Rolling his eyes, Bellamy pointed out a woman caught jogging. Then, he handed him another picture and pointed to the exact same woman on the far right of the frame, her eyes were closed and she was offering her face to the wind ruffling the leaves on the tree above her head.

Picture after picture, the woman was there. Sometimes center and sometimes almost out of the frame… At different times, in different places… Alone or with friends… It looked like Marcus had spent the last few months taking pictures of her.

“She must go to the park a lot.” was all he could give by way of explication.

“Sure, tell yourself that.” Bellamy laughed. “You’re a stalker, Kane.” The kid rummaged in the pile of pictures and plucked one out. “I wouldn’t mind meeting the blonde, though. Cute chick.”

The stranger was with a younger woman on the far left side of the picture, probably around Octavia’s age… Her daughter, maybe? They seemed to be having an argument.

Her curiosity piqued, O snatched the picture away to have a look.

“Gross!” she exclaimed. “That’s Clarke. She’s in biology with me. And that’s Doctor Griffin.”

“Who’s Doctor Griffin?” Marcus asked.

“Apparently, the woman you’ve been following around and taking pictures of without her consent for the last year.” Bellamy grinned, promptly avoiding the dishcloth when Marcus tossed it at his head.

“Clarke’s mom.” Octavia shrugged, almost adding a _doh_. “I’ve been at her house a few times. She’s nice.” A devilish smile stretched her lips. “Very _single_ too. Clarke’s dad died last year.”

“Did you hear that, Kane?” Bellamy teased. “She’s _very_ _single_.”

“Okay, okay, enough.” he sighed.

Of course, that wasn’t enough to stop the taunts and the comments. He suffered through remarks about his accidental stalking all dinner and during most of the movie they watched afterwards, to the point he actually rejoiced in the silence once the kids were gone to bed. He snatched the pictures from the kitchen counter before retreating to his own bedroom and settled on his bed, sorting them into two piles: one with the mysterious Doctor Griffin and one without her.

It was a bit disconcerting to notice the pile without her was by far thinner than the one where she featured on the pictures.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had developed his films. Four months? Five? Digging through the metal box where he kept most of the work that wasn’t good enough to be framed or exposed somewhere in the house, he found more pictures of her. She must have been going to the park almost every day.

And she was so stunningly beautiful, he must have been blind not to notice her before.

There she was, around a year earlier, discreetly crying on a bench near the pond, fingering what appeared to be a ring. Then later, she was there, on the very same bench, but she looked more peaceful, her face was angled upward, the sun was shining on her face, her long hair was draped over her shoulder – and he had stupidly been aiming at the rock on which the sun was reflecting in a way that had made him think of diamond; clearly he didn’t have the eye he had thought he had. Another corner of the park, she was having a picnic on the grass, by herself, lost in the middle of other people having lunch, a book propped open on her bag and kept from sliding close by her foot while she ate her salad, wearing blue hospital scrubs _. Akardia’s General_ was just around the corner, he figured she probably spent most of her lunch breaks at the park.

There were so many more pictures he started feeling like a creep – an involuntary one, yes, but a creep nonetheless – and he had arrested enough of those to be ill-at-ease with the accidental breach of her privacy. The pictures were like a window on her life. She was laughing with a young Latin-American woman with black hair and dressed with a mechanic overall near the fountain. She tossed her head back a little when she laughed and her hand covered her mouth as if not sure she was permitted the amusement – and he had been aiming at the top of the fountain where a bird was perched. She was arguing with her daughter on a few pictures, _Clarke_ if Octavia was to be trusted, and now she had mentioned it, he remembered seeing the girl around once or twice but he had never really paid attention. On others she was on the phone, distractedly picking up at grass blades, leaning against a tree or simply walking.

His favorites were the ones where she was sitting on the bench near the lake though. Given the frequency in which she invaded those, it must be one of her favorite spots in the park. On one she had her right leg hugged close to her chest, her left one folded around her right ankle and her chin propped on her knee. The wind was running havoc with her hair and she looked like melancholy itself. And he had aimed at a stupid squirrel who had conquered a pile of rocks and looked very pleased with himself.

By the time he had looked closely at all the pictures, he had concluded two things: one, as far as photography went, he was a failure because he had never seen the perfect subject even when it was right under his nose; two, he was desperate to know Doctor Griffin’s story.

He carefully put all of her pictures together, not really sure what he ought to do with them.

There were more taunts in the morning and even more teasing once he reached the precinct and his partner joined in on the fun – he was sure it was Octavia who had leaked the whole thing to Indra anyway, he just hoped she wouldn’t find it relevant to inform _Clarke_.

After a couple of days though, the kids moved on and forgot all about the woman in the pictures.

Lucky them.

Marcus found he couldn’t quite put her out of his mind.

He didn’t exactly _plan_ to look for her. He just happened to be out in the park the next week-end, taking pictures of the same old trees, trying to capture the particular light of that spring morning, when he noticed her jogging past in his lens. She looked focused, wearing baggy shorts and a blue tank top, earbuds on, an iphone dangerously bobbing up and down in her pocket…

He took the picture without meaning to.

Well, he probably _meant_ to but it wasn’t exactly a conscious decision.

He felt very bad once it was done. There was a difference between accidentally taking someone’s picture while aiming at other things and _consciously_ taking it without their permission. He was an officer of the law and he was behaving like…

It didn’t sit well with him so when he stumbled upon her again near the lake, he decided to approach the bench she was sitting on fumbling with her phone. She looked up with a frown when he stood there a little too long, casting a shadow over her. She was even more beautiful up close and Marcus found himself at a loss for words.

He didn’t believe in love at first sight.

 _Of course_ , he didn’t.

It would have made the whole thing even weirder.

He must have been silent for too long, standing there staring at her like a weirdo, because she tore the earbuds from her ears and frowned even deeper. “Can I help you?”

It wasn’t actually friendly and Marcus cleared his throat, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to the other, waving his camera a little. “Doctor Griffin… I think I’ve accidentally been stalking you.”

She didn’t flinch or recoil and she didn’t look away but, he noticed, she blindly unlocked her phone and kept her thumb right over the call app.

“That didn’t come out right.” he winced, lifting a hand in supplication. “I’m not… I’m a Detective.” He nudged his black leather jacket aside so she could get a glimpse of the badge he always wore on his belt, on call or not.

She relaxed a little but not by much. “Am I in trouble? Because if this is about Mount Weather’s facility again, I was _right_. _Yes_ , I broke in but they _were_ conducting suspicious experiments and…”

He was more than a little curious to find out she seemed to _expect_ trouble with the police but he shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” And then he lifted his eyebrows, a smile playing on his lips. “For the record, you shouldn’t admit to _a break in_ to the first Detective who comes around.”

“Then who are you and how do you know my name?” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest.

“I’m… Sorry.” he winced again. He could almost hear Bellamy in the back of his head mocking him for how _smooth_ he was being at this. “This came out all wrong. I’m Detective Kane. _Marcus_. I’m Octavia Blake’s…”

His voice faltered a little, not sure how he should introduce himself. O had been doing the introduction for as long as he had entered their current arrangement and she always found ways to avoid putting a name on who he was, mostly because _legally_ he was no one. _Bellamy_ was her guardian, he was just the guy who had taken them in.

“Oh, you’re Octavia’s father.” Suddenly she was smiling, tension completely leaving her shoulders. “She told me a lot about you. My daughter’s in love with your pictures.”

“Really?” he frowned. He had a few of them framed around the house and Octavia always had friends over, he supposed Clarke must have seen them.

“Yes.” she nodded, gesturing at him to sit next to her – something he didn’t need to be told twice. “She’s more into drawing but she has an artistic eye.”

Marcus smiled back, riveted by the way her face lit up when she talked about her daughter. Then her previous words caught up with him and he found himself frowning.

“Is that what O tells people?” he asked, a bit hesitant. “That I’m her father?”

She seemed taken aback. “Aren’t you?”

Before he knew how or why, he was telling her the story of how he found himself a parent of two – slightly troubled – teens. She looked impressed. And he was all about her looking impressed but not because of _that_. That was… That _wasn’t_ a way to make women interested in him. The kids meant too much to him.

“I’ve never regretted it.” he concluded awkwardly.

“Octavia is a very nice girl.” she offered. “I think you did a good job with her.”

“She’s wild.” he chuckled, pleased with the compliment nonetheless. Octavia was a whirlwind on a good day. They loved her for it. He shook his head and cleared his throat, coming back to the matter at hand before it would be too awkward to confess. “Doctor Griffin…”

She waved that off with a small smile. “Abby.”

“Abby.” he repeated and the name sounded sweet on his tongue. Oh, he would never hear the end of this, he knew, the kids would mock him into his old age. “I have a confession.”

He told her about the pictures, bracing himself for the inevitable freaking out that would ensue. Instead of running away in fear though, she laughed.

“I come here almost every day.” she confirmed. “It’s not really surprising I would end up on your pictures… I’m more surprised I’ve never spotted you before.”

“I blend in.” he shrugged. “Why would you notice me anyway?”

“I can think of a few reasons.” she grinned and he found himself grinning back. He was good at reading body language and the way her upper body was turned completely in his direction, the tilted head, and the twinkling eyes were all very encouraging.

“I was wondering…” he tried.

“Yes.” she answered immediately.

They both started laughing a little.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” he chided her.

“You were about to offer showing me the pictures of me over coffee or dinner.” she countered. “And I’m open to both.”

That woman, he quickly decided as they exchanged numbers, was something else.

It only took him three dates to understand she was very probably _the one_.

He turned his interest to portraits after that, hers mostly. She grumbled a bit about it at first because she lived under that stupid illusion that she wasn’t photogenic but she soon got used to it. _Everyone_ got used to it really.

If Marcus Kane had a camera in his hands, you could be sure his subject of choice would be Abby Griffin.


	33. One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m having a The 100 rewatch and I’m at “His sister’s keeper” (1X6) and you know what I noticed? Marcus is sad, Abby is sad… They could be sad together XD So this is kind of a (AUish) missing scene that takes place after Marcus has his breakdown with Vera but before the Council meeting where Diana takes Abby’s seat.   
> Thanks to Akachankami for the beta reading and beware of smut!

The knocks on the door were unexpected and Marcus ignored them, staring at the bottom of his cup of moonshine.

The next Council meeting wasn’t due until later that evening and he was in no rush to watch Diana Sydney get appointed in Abby’s place. He wasn’t in any mood to deal with anything either. Offering water to the Eden Tree hadn’t helped attenuate his guilt or _cleanse_ him, as his mother had put it – neither had crying on her shoulder for almost an hour.

Maybe booze would work where everything else had failed.

Maybe…

Three hundred and twenty people were a lot of souls to have on one’s conscience.

The knocks echoed again, short and impatient. He closed his eyes and pressed the back of his head against the wall, taking a sip of the awful stuff he had confiscated months earlier. He didn’t like the taste. Callie loved it. _Callie_. Another dead person to add to his kill count, a dead person he had a close relationship with and had refused to make an exception for out of a misplaced sense of duty. Like Jake Griffin.

What good was duty when it got people killed?

This time, it wasn’t so much knocking as _hammering_. “Kane, open the _damn_ door! I know you’re in there!”

The familiar voice made him frown because Abby Griffin was the last person he expected to visit his quarters. He almost got up to answer the door but couldn’t find the will to move. The moonshine had done its job and he was pleasantly buzzed. It didn’t stop the memories and it did nothing to reduce the pain in his chest but it was enough of an excuse not to move.

“It’s not locked!” he called back, wondering what she wanted, what she would do when she would find him sitting on the floor, with his back to the wall, despite the other more comfortable options at his disposal.

Maybe she would gloat.

He would let her, he decided in the second it took her to action the mechanism that opened the door and shut it again behind her. He would let her gloat because she had been right all along and he had almost floated her for it.

A near-miss on his impressive list of victims.

She didn’t spot him at once and, for a second, he watched confusion flash on her face. Then her eyes fell on him, darted to the cup in his hand and the bottle next to him, and her eyebrows rose high.

“Any reason you chose to sit on the floor?” she asked, as if it was a perfectly common question.

It was a valid one probably and he almost told her the truth: he wanted to be as uncomfortable as possible, to _suffer_ because he deserved it.

“What are you doing here?” he deflected, noting the medical bag she was carrying. “Tell me you’re not stealing supplies again.”

She wasn’t amused by the comment and it was a poor joke anyway. She abruptly placed the bag on the table and folded her arms over her chest, staring down at him, _studying_ him.

“I was told there was an incident earlier with some of the workers.” she informed him. “I was told you were _pushed_.”

He frowned a little, trying to figure out who would tell her that and why exactly she was supposed to care. Not _Jaha_ because Jaha wasn’t his biggest fan right now – and he wasn’t going to blame the Chancellor for it. He took a sip of moonshine and shrugged. “I wasn’t injured, Jaha _rescued_ me.”

She must have picked up on the bitterness because suddenly she was frowning too. “You’re drunk.”

It was an accusation he couldn’t quite deny. “A bit.”

“I could turn you in for having illegal moonshine in your possession.” she pointed out although they _all_ had illegal moonshine in their possession. Jaha had a nice collection of _century old_ hard liquor.

“You could.” he nodded.

For a second she looked tempted to do just that. Then she let out a long tired sigh. “Can I have some?”

He offered the bottle, thinking she would grab herself a glass and a chair but she surprised him by sitting on the floor next to him instead. She mirrored his position, legs bent at the knees, back against the wall, head resting against the cold metal…

“Hard day?” he asked when she snatched the bottle from his hand and took a long swallow.

“It’s not like you to get drunk sitting on the floor.” she eluded.

“It’s not like you either.” he retorted, feeling the same spark of annoyance he often did in her presence. She had a gift for pushing his buttons. “Who sent you?”

She actually snorted before taking another mouthful. “Your mother. She thinks we should bury the hatchet and be friends again because we could both use one.”

“She likes to meddle.” he commented with more fondness than he had felt for his mother in years. He had put distance between himself and his past, thinking his origins were making him weak. Stupid. Like everything else he had done. _Stupid_.

“She did say you were ready to let yourself get mauled by angry people.” Abby added. “And that you had been hurt.”

“I told you. Jaha rescued me before it could get serious.” he shrugged.

“He tends to do that.” she agreed, taking another sip before passing him the bottle. “So… That _nearly unanimous_ vote… Are you disappointed you didn’t get to float me this time either?”

He finished his cup before bringing the bottle to his lips. He didn’t drink though. He was trying to find the right words. In the end, he lowered the bottle without tasting a drop of liquor. “I never wanted you _dead_ , Abby. You gave me no choice.”

“There’s always a choice.” she snapped.

“So you keep saying.” he breathed out, closing his eyes again, bumping his head a couple of times against the wall. “And now I believe you.” She seemed surprised by that. She stole the bottle from his grip. He heard the soft splashing that meant she was probably drinking some more but he didn’t open his eyes to confirm it. He licked his lips. “I can’t discuss Council matters with people who aren’t _on_   the Council.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” she scoffed.

“It wasn’t me.” he said before she could get angry. He was tired of her being angry at him. They had been friends before Jake got floated. Friends who argued about politics and didn’t often agree on the best way to do things, true, but _friends_ nonetheless. It had almost felt like a game of chess with the Ark for a board, she played her pieces, he played his, moves and countermoves… Had he thought his life would have been easier without her? Yes, many times. Had he ever wished her ill? No, never. “I _did_ vote for you to be released from the Council because the way you do things… I don’t think it’s the right way. But I didn’t vote for you to be floated. That was Fuji.”

“Fuji.” she repeated and he could see she was storing the information for later.

“I never wanted you dead.” he insisted.

“I know.” Her admission was quiet and he opened his eyes, turning his head to look at her. She didn’t look at him, she kept her eyes straight ahead, the forgotten bottle dangling from her fingers. “You were doing what you thought was best for the Ark.”

“I was _so_ sure…” he whispered, not bothering to hide the pain in his voice. “And I was _so_ wrong…” 

“I know.” she said again, blindly reaching for his hand. And he believed her. 

They remained like that for a while, she stared straight ahead and he stared at her, their sides pressed together. It wasn’t weird or uncomfortable. It felt like being companions in misery. It was obvious to him that she was upset for some reason – nothing else would have driven her to sit on the floor with _him_ to _drink_.

“Did you hear who Jaha nominated to replace you?” he asked eventually, thinking that might have been the cause of her silent sorrow.

She blinked and extracted herself from her thoughts, bringing the bottle to her lips with her free hand. The left one remained in his. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”

It sounded ironical and he found himself snorting. “Diana.”

She turned her head toward him, watching with open disbelief. “ _Diana_ _Sydney_?”

He nodded. “It was the only way to avoid a riot.”

“I don’t trust her.” Abby declared. “What do you think?”

He lifted his eyebrows and looked down. “I don’t think I should be making decisions anymore.”

She squeezed his hand and he forced himself to brave her eyes again. They were sitting close and with her head turned in his direction, he could see every detail of her face.

“You thought it was the best way.” she told him. “You thought you were sparing lives. You thought it was the only way we would survive.”

“But it wasn’t.” he simply countered. “And if I had listened to you…”

“And if _I_ had listened to Jake…” she cut him off, letting her sentence trail off. Her face crumpled in pain and she gave a small shrug, making an obvious effort to swallow back her tears. “We can’t afford to think this way now, Marcus. We need to focus on saving our people. Everything else… Everything else can be dealt with later.”

_How do we do that?_ , he wanted to ask but he found himself running his thumb along the length of hers instead.

“I don’t remember the last time you called me Marcus.” he confessed.

“Well, to be fair, you’ve been a pain in my ass.” she laughed. It was a broken laugh, there were still tears in her eyes.

“Only because you’ve made it your life’s mission to be a pain in mine. You know. _To be fair._ ” he accused with a small smile. She didn’t deny it. They stared at each other for a moment. The air was charged with something he wasn’t sure he should blame the moonshine for. He was buzzed but not drunk and she hadn’t had enough to be more than slightly tipsy. “Why aren’t you on the radio?” he asked eventually. She lowered her eyes and he frowned. “Abby?”

“She knows.” she whispered. “Clarke. She knows I’m the one who turned her father in.” He entwined their fingers without thought, only thinking afterward that maybe she wouldn’t welcome it. She held tight to his hand, though, looking up at him, a plea in her eyes. “She hates me.”

“She’ll come around.” he promised. “She’ll understand.”

“You don’t know that.” she protested, shaking her head. “You don’t know…”

“Yes, I do.” he countered firmly, letting go of her hand to brush a strand that had gotten loose from her braid away from her face. “Griffin women are astonishingly good at forgiving. Even the unforgivable.”

“I’m not so sure it’s that easy.” she sighed.

She leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together. His hand lingered on her cheek, unsure of what he was supposed to do. It was intimate, more intimate than anything he had ever shared with her, more intimate than anything he felt he _deserved_ to share with her. He had hurt her and her family more times than he could count. She closed her eyes and he felt the flutter of her eyelashes against his skin, it made a surge of _want_ erupt in his groin.

“Abby…” he murmured. He had meant it to sound chiding, maybe reproachful, but he only came out pleading. He tried to take his hand away from her cheek but she covered it with hers, held it in place.

“I can’t stop thinking about her voice…” she confessed. “I can’t stop thinking about Jake’s face when he understood I… I can’t stop _thinking_.”

“I can’t stop thinking about the bodies.” he offered, in a low tone. “I can’t stop thinking it’s my fault and _I_ should be dead…”

Jaha had planned on sacrificing himself. It had never occurred to him to offer the same thing. Not when he had been writing the Reducing Population Plan. Not when he had convinced the Council. Not when he had brought the final review to Thelonious. Never. He wasn’t the sort of men who sacrificed himself for others. And it probably meant he wasn’t a good man, not the man he had thought he was, not the man he wanted to be.

“Then maybe it’s time we stop thinking.” she hummed.

Her hand drifted from his to the crook of his elbow to his shoulder.

“Abby…” It was his only attempt at protesting and it came out anything but that.

Her lips brushed his, a bit uncertain. The second time was more confident. By the third he had lost all hope of controlling himself or to be the noble man it appeared he wasn’t by remarking they had both been drinking and were both upset.

Religion hadn’t made him feel better, crying hadn’t made him feel better, booze hadn’t made him feel better…

Sex was the next logical step.

His kiss was hard and demanding, their lips locked in something that felt more like war than love. He buried his fingers in her braid, tilting her head to deepen the kiss as she rose to her knees to face him. Her tongue licked his bottom lip but he didn’t allow her entrance, not until he had tugged on her thigh to make her straddle him. She gasped when she felt him already half hard for her and he took full advantage of it to push his tongue in her mouth.

A thrill ran down his spine when she started rocking against him, the kiss dirty in all the right ways. His hands found her ass, urging her even closer. The quicker she rubbed against him, the messier the kisses became, until he stopped her with a firm grip on her hips.

She groaned against his mouth – in disappointment or frustration.

“If you go on like that, it’ll be over before we start.” he warned her. But maybe that was what she wanted. Maybe he was asking for more than she was willing to give. Coming in their pants would hardly be the same as…

She nipped at his bottom lip, short-circuiting his train of thought by kissing him again. He could have sworn there were sparks every time they kissed. It was like a rush of blood to the head – except the blood was rushing _south_. It was a perfect paradox he would be happy to drown in forever.

She drew back and he was breathless, completely drunk this time. Drunk on her. On the two of them together.

“Do something about it, then.” she commanded.

It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her he was still on the Council and she wasn’t, that he didn’t have to obey her orders, that she had no power over him. That would have been a lie however… She _had_   some power over him. She was one of the very rare people who could make him lose patience and calm in a second when he was usually so cold and collected with everyone else.

She had the power he granted her.

She had the power he was unable to deny her.

And so he wrapped his right arm around her and blindly felt around for the bookshelf to his left, using it as leverage to prop the both of them up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they stumbled a bit, her back hit the bookshelf that wobbled a little, some books and trinkets fell over. Not that Marcus cared because he was too busy kissing her again.

It would be just like her to make sure his painfully ordered and organized quarters ended up in chaos. Hurricane Abby, turning his life upside down once more, in every possible way.

He felt her tugging at his shirt and he stopped kissing her, lifting his arms so she could slip it off, pinning her to the bookshelf with his hips so she wouldn’t fall. The bookshelf dangerously wobbled again and she giggled. The sound was so girlish and unexpected, it shocked him. Her eyes were clouded with lust and the smile on her face was radiant. She was as high on _this_ as he was.

“This bookshelf is going to fall.” she whispered in his ear, before biting down on his earlobe. Her mouth went to his neck. She liked to use teeth and he groaned as she chewed on the nerves at the junction of his neck and shoulder, her hands roaming on his back, on his side, _exploring_ …

He pushed them off the shelf and staggered to the sleeping area, distracted by the fingers she suddenly tangled in his hair. She tugged a little, pulling his head back to kiss him again.

He wasn’t sure how they managed to reach the bed without breaking their neck.

She unlocked her legs from his waist but she didn’t stop kissing him. It was alright with him. Now that he knew what it felt like, he never wanted to stop. She pulled her own shirt over her head and unclasped her bra and she stood there, her chin high, unapologetic, unashamed, and it was the biggest turn on he had ever felt. There was a small spark of insecurity in her eyes but it disappeared as soon as he licked his lips. 

Then it was all lust, and blood curling _want_ , and in a second they were kissing again, tearing off the rest of their clothes. He didn’t know who pushed the other on the bed. He only knew next it was all fingers digging hard into flesh, mouth exploring on newly uncovered skin, tasting, testing, _learning_ … She pulled him on her and he didn’t resist, he wasn’t in any condition to resist or to ask if she was one hundred percent sure she wanted this because they were about to pass a point of no return.

“Please…” she begged in his ear.

It was his undoing. He hooked an arm around her leg and thrust into her in response. Watching her arch her neck, a hiss of pleasure escaping her throat.

“How…” he hesitated.

“Fast.” she demanded. “ _Hard_.”

_Punishing_ , she meant, he figured, because this had started as a way to forget their respective crimes.

And once more, he obeyed her.

Maybe he had found his true calling, he mused, as he pounded into her, watching with fascination as she crumpled the sheets in her fists, as she pressed her lips to swallow back her moans. Maybe following her lead was his best bet.

He buried his face in her neck, sucking the sweat off her skin, leaving a mark on her collarbone just because he _could_.  She coiled her hand around his nape, her other hand found his ass. She squeezed both at random, her breathing quickening fast, the soft muffled noises increasing… He sneaked a hand between their bodies despite the awkward angle but waited until he was close too to apply pressure.

She exploded in a raw stifled cry that triggered his own release.

It took so long for the blood to stop pounding in his ears that he thought maybe having sex when oxygen wasn’t at one hundred percent capacity wasn’t exactly the best idea they ever had.

She was still panting when he rolled off her and to his side, still a bit short of breath himself. Air levels hadn’t been on full capacity for a while now. Exercising always left everyone a bit light headed. It was a common consequence nowadays and not a fun one.

“Having sex on Earth must be great.” he mumbled. He could picture it. Not feeling like your heart was about to burst just because…

“It’s good to know you have your priorities straight, Kane.” she mocked, between two gulps of air.

The feeling of contentment vanished and he closed off.

“ _Kane_.” he spat, disappointed and bitter all at once.

“Don’t be like that.” she snapped, sitting up. She grabbed the sheets and pulled them to her chest as if there was anything he hadn’t seen yet. As if he could forget. As if he could…

He was _stupid_.

Whatever just happened, it wasn’t going to erase the last year. It wasn’t going to erase _anything_.

He waited for her to snatch her underwear from the floor, get dressed and flee, but she surprised him – _of course_ , she surprised him, when had _Abby Griffin_ not surprised him? – by lying back down, offering the sheets to share. She did the whole thing tentatively, as if she wasn’t completely sure it was okay for her to presume that much.

It wasn’t really warm and his sweaty skin was making him shiver, he pulled the sheets up and cushioned his head on his bent arm, leaving her the only pillow.

She rolled on her stomach, and slipped her arms under the pillow, her cheek pressed against it, studying him. She looked guarded.

His fingers were shaking a little when he carefully brushed her half undone braid back, softly running his knuckles on her shoulder.

There was a question in her eyes, a question he was certain was reflected in his own gaze, but neither of them seemed willing to ask it.

So he let his imagination run wild because he certainly didn’t deserve to have her in his bed but she was there nonetheless and she had made the impossible happen, she had distracted him enough from his guilt that it wasn’t threatening to suffocate him anymore… So he imagined. He imagined he found ways of earning his redemption, he imagined it was ordinary for them to go to bed together, he imagined in time…

“What now?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his.

His eyes darted to the alarm clock next to the bed. “There’s a Council meeting in two hours.”

“And I have to go back to Earth Monitoring Station in case the kids make contact again.” she answered with a touch of annoyance. “I wasn’t asking what was on your agenda, Marcus.”

Her tone was harsh and it was only the use of his first name that prevented him from responding in kind. They weren’t enemies, no matter how often they behaved like it. He couldn’t let himself forget that.

He didn’t seem to be able to stop touching her either.

He was still absentmindedly brushing his knuckles on her shoulder.

She wouldn’t let him shy away from her gaze, she stared straight at him. Always so stubborn…

“I know what you’re asking.” he admitted. “I’m just not sure what to say.”

She huffed and rolled on her side to face him, making sure the sheets were secured around her chest. “You can say it was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t.” he said quickly, and then frowned. “Do you think it was a mistake?”

She watched him for a second and then rolled on her back and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was always that fidgety in bed. “I’ve wanted it for a while.” She sounded almost ashamed to admit it – and why _wouldn’t_ she be? They had been at each other’s throat for months.

And it was just the thing, wasn’t it? They had been pushing each other’s buttons for months. The tension… He had been aware there was a tension. He just hadn’t realized it was sexual. Or rather, he hadn’t let himself _think_ that way because she was _Abby_ and, not only did she loathe him now, but she was also the widow of one of his best friends – a friend he had had a hand in floating. It was all so complicated, it had always given him a headache the rare times he had let himself think about it.

The truth was the only answer he could offer. “I’ve wanted it too.”

There was a moment of hesitation on both of their part.

“But it’s not the right time.” she said softly, almost regretfully.

Privately, he wondered if there _would be_ a right time for them. Not up here on the Ark. He couldn’t see it. And Earth… Earth was the dream. And, for now, it was still out of reach. Soon, maybe. But _now…_

“It should be right.” he said, leaning in to rest his forehead against her on the pillow. “You and me… I would want to get it right because… Believe it or not, I care about you, Abby. Right now, it wouldn’t be.”

“I agree.” she breathed out.

It wasn’t every day they agreed on something. Hell was probably freezing over somewhere.

He brushed his mouth against hers and she rolled on her side to kiss him properly, pushing him on his back and snuggling against him, propped on her elbow.

“I needed this.” she confessed between two kisses.

“Me too.” he mumbled, not willing to stop kissing her long enough to talk.

“I need to go…” she said.

“No.” His growl was instinctive, just as instinctive as the way his arms closed around her, pulling her on his chest.

She didn’t look angry though, just amused and a bit impatient. “You just said…”

“Two more hours.” he bargained. “Two more hours of _no thinking_. Please.”

If she left, he would be alone with his demons again. And it was a more frightening thought than he could bear.

He saw the same weariness in her eyes that he felt deep inside.

Going back to Earth Monitoring Station meant facing her daughter and she wasn’t any more ready for that than he was ready to go see Diana Sydney settle in her seat.

“Two hours.” she granted, resting her head on his shoulder, curling up against his side. A short respite before reality sucked them in its harsh vortex again.

He held her tight, his nose in her hair, committing everything to memory. 

One day, maybe, there wouldn’t be a ticking clock counting the seconds until they had to part for who knew how long.

One day.


	34. Keyron Tein

“A match is a precious thing, Marcus.”

Seven year old Marcus follows his mother’s slightly wistful eyes to the couple holding hands in the next line. Marcus is very hungry and just wants the line to move faster so he can get his lunch and yet… He can’t stop looking. He’s not the only one staring. A lot of people are staring.

The couple doesn’t seem to care though. They’re lost in their own universe.

Matches are a rare thing on the Ark, which explains why people are so fascinated by it.

There is an old word for it, from before the Ark, when humans were still on the Ground. _Soulmates_. Marcus likes the word better somehow. He loves stories. And he loves it when his mother includes Matches in them. The moment someone discovers their loved one’s scars disappear when they kiss them is always a good one. He likes the idea that someone can heal the one they love most. He likes the idea that there is someone out there for everyone, it is just a matter of finding them. He likes the idea of a love so big it is meant to be. He wishes with all his heart his someone is somewhere on the Ark.

But then he grows up.

And he forgets.

He becomes pragmatic and hard because he has to be, because he wants to serve their people and their people need – _deserve_ – leaders who won’t let their judgment be clouded by sentiment.

Matches have been studied in the past but they have no practical use to everyday life. Making scars disappear is of no tactical advantage, it doesn’t heal wounds and it doesn’t cure sickness. It is believed to be only a genetic defect, a biological anomaly. There is no proof it is fate and he’s not sure he believes in _souls_ at all anymore so he is content to ignore the whole concept and to forget what he once found so fascinating about it. They are so rare anyway that it isn’t such a hard thing to do.

It is only when they hit the Ground and he sees Octavia and Lincoln together for the first time that he remembers why he used to be so in awe. It’s in the way they look at each other, in the way they move and talk, in the way they light up when they’re around each other as if they can sense the other’s presence even before they see them… It’s the little things and the big things and the way there is no denying they are simply _meant to be_.

He discovers a lot in the months they spend on the Ground and despite the trials and the pain, he _grows_.

Grounders call it _keyron tein_. It means twin souls and is probably closer to the original idea of soulmates. The first time he calls it _Matches_ in front of Indra, she frowns so hard he’s almost afraid she will stay stuck that way. _Keyron tein_ is something almost sacred in the Grounder culture and she finds offense to the clinical _Match_.

To be honest, Marcus starts getting offended too. The word is cold for something so beautiful.

He doesn’t believe soulmates are the be all, break all. Love can be just as powerful when fate isn’t that clear from the start.

He loves Abby.

He’s known for a while but it is only when she presses a kiss on his cheek and talks of hope that he acknowledges it to himself. Because for the first time he _hopes_ it isn’t one sided.

Then he is sentenced to death and one of the things he can only think about sitting in that cell is that he is glad they’re not Matched. He can’t imagine the pain of losing something so precious. It will be hard for her but she will survive. He knows it deep down, it is a quiet certainty that gives him comfort.

At least, until she sobs that she can’t do it again, because he reads the truth of that statement in her eyes and it kills him to see her like that. _Because of him._

He knows she wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss her.

He can’t. He is going to his death and he needs to stay strong, to _look_ strong. He can’t do that knowing what he is leaving behind. He can’t march toward death with her taste on his lips. It can’t be a one time thing. It will open doors and he can’t bear to get only a peek of what could have been when he desperately wants to explore it.

He’s not as surprised as he is supposed to be when the rescue comes and he is _definitely_ not surprised she is part of it.

Kissing her as he flees, however…

He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe as a hope of better times to come. She’s so firm when she promises they will meet again that he believes her. But then again, his faith in her is unwavering. He is more certain of Abby Griffin than he is of the sun rising up in the morning. He _feels_ it in his chest, _her_ , his _love_ for her… He’s in too deep but he can’t bring himself to regret it.

Watching Lincoln die… Watching Octavia lose him…

Matches aren’t so fascinating anymore. It’s _horrible_. The pain… The hollowness in the girl’s eyes…

There are no words he can offer and there is an unspoken blame hanging between them so he keeps quiet. He offers her a silent company as they stand watch shoulder to shoulder but he doesn’t talk.

What can he say anyway? She just lost a part of herself and he, stupidly, feels like he has gained one instead.

The kiss haunts him.

Day and night, it haunts him.

The memory of it is vivid. Every detail is clear.

He’s almost _happy_ on the way to Polis with the Grounders and a tied up Pike. He knows they will probably kill the man – although he _will_ try to negotiate for his life, he doesn’t think it will work, it is too late for that now – and he knows nothing is settled but he is almost happy because he has good hopes of being allowed to go _home_ after this is done. He misses Abby. _Badly_. It’s like an ache in his chest.

_Of course_ , Jaha has to put a wrench in the plan. 

Torture isn’t the worst thing.

The worst thing is pleading for Abby to come back and only meeting an empty gaze. There is a flicker of lucidity sometimes but it hardly ever lasts more than a second, it is gone in a flash and he fails to reach her.

They nail him to a cross and he gives up everything he is in exchange for her life.

He doesn’t think he would have done it for anyone else.

But _losing_ her? _Forever_?

That is the single most frightening prospect he has ever faced.

It’s a couple of days before they head back to Arkadia once everything is done. Polis is in ruins and it takes Abby and the local healers hours to treat everyone’s wounds, it takes him almost as long to help establish some sort of order in the city. It’s a couple of days before Abby suggests he gives the word to pack up and leave.

It isn’t until she says it that he realizes people have been calling him _Chancellor_.

So he gives the order.

Clarke and a few of the heavily wounded go ahead in the rover. Marcus leads the long procession that will take his people home, Abby stubbornly staying by his side every step of the way. It’s slow going. People are hurt and disoriented even days after leaving the City of Light. After being cut off from memories and pain, getting everything back at once is almost overwhelming. So they walk slowly, they make regular stops for resting, and they don’t particularly care because aside from natural predators there are no more enemies to be wary of.

Sometimes it feels to Marcus as if they will stay on the road forever.

Octavia is sullen and resentful about not being allowed to remain in Polis. Indra sent her with them and it is the only reason she is there at all. He tries to reach her. About Pike and Lincoln but she shuts him out. And the pain he can read in her eyes… He doesn’t know how to help.

“Give her time.” Abby advises quietly, almost hesitantly one night as he watches the girl staring at the surrounding wilderness, perched on a rock, her sword and the sharpening stone forgotten on her lap.

He nods and focuses back on getting their campfire ready.

He and Abby don’t really talk about what happened. Neither the kiss nor the torture. They walk together, they _lead_ together – he hasn’t protested when someone has referred to her as Chancellor, it spread, and so it seems they are both Chancellors now, which is more than alright with him – they share a campfire and they sleep back to back for warmth as well as for comfort. She treats his wounds every night and every night she silently begs with her eyes for a forgiveness he is only too happy to grant.

On the fourth night, when she looks at him with that pleading glance, he brushes her tangled hair back and draws her in a hug. He realizes, too late, that she has been the one offering comfort ever since he woke up and that nobody has bothered to comfort _her._ He feels guilty about it, _selfish_ for taking and not giving.

She shatters in his arms.

She’s not the only one sobbing and falling apart that night – there are always people randomly bursting into tears or screaming in their sleep now – but she’s the most important to him. She crawls on his lap and clings to him as if he’s about to be ripped away from her. So he holds her, he pets her hair, he presses kisses on every patch of skin he can find, he whispers soft words in her ear and he swears they will be fine until she stops trembling. She’s so exhausted when she has no more tears to cry that she falls asleep right there. He lies down, careful not to wake her up, and he doesn’t quite mind the weight on his chest even if it hurts his bruised ribs.

For the first time, he doesn’t have trouble falling asleep.

They’re amongst the last to wake up the next morning, the camp is already alive and packing up when he stirs. They shifted during the night. She’s not on his chest anymore but neatly tucked against his side, her head on his shoulder, her leg hooked around his and her arm casually thrown over his torso like they’ve been doing this every night of their lives.

He slowly rolls on his side, careful to keep his arm under her head so it doesn’t end up on the rocky ground, trapping her leg between his.

“Abby.” he whispers.

Her eyelashes flutter and he finds the sight riveting. She let out a long hum of protest and tries to burrow against him, seeking his warmth. The fire died down long ago and it isn’t exactly summer anymore.

“We have to get up.” he insists, amused despite himself.

“Do you have coffee?” she grumbles, keeping her eyes shut.

“No.” he admits.

“Then, five more minutes.” she counters.

“Abby.” he sighs, a little too aware that, while they are at the edge of the campsite, they are still in open sight. He doesn’t intend to hide whatever is going on between them but he has never been one to flaunt his private life for everyone to see. Rumors are flying as it is.

“Marcus.” she rebukes, finally opening her eyes to glare at him.

It’s so _normal_ that for a second his breath catches in his throat. She’s so close, it wouldn’t take much to lean in and capture her mouth. Suddenly he wants to kiss her until her lips are bruised, their audience be damned. There is a spark in her eyes and he knows she knows just where his thoughts went.

He’s too aware of their bodies pressed together all of a sudden. Her warmth, the thigh pressed against parts of him that are rapidly waking up too, how tiny she is, how perfectly they would fit if he were to…

Her gaze flicker to his mouth with a mix of longing and regret.

“We should get going.” she says.

It’s his turn to hum in protest but when she extricates herself from him, he doesn’t stop her.

He feels a lot more anchored to reality that day though, as if he has finally woken up for good. And after they’ve set up camp that night, he doesn’t resist the temptation of suggesting she helps him grab some more firewood for their fire when she comes back from visiting her patients. She glances at the perfectly good fire with the trigs piled up right beside it for later use and lifts a challenging eyebrow. Still, she follows him in the darkness of the woods.

He doesn’t hold on for long before grabbing her around the waist and pinning her to a tree.

She kisses him before he can make the first move. It’s raw and almost desperate and his hands are under her shirt before he can stop himself, one ends up splayed wide at the small of her back, and the other flat between her breasts. The kiss slows down by itself when he doesn’t do anything else but feel her heartbeat thumping under his palm.

She’s _alive_.

Her fingers are tangled in his hair and she guides his head until their foreheads are pressed together. They’re both panting hard as if they just did something a lot less innocent than just kissing. Her shirt is riding high, the fabric stretched over his forearm almost to the point of tearing. The wind leaves goosebumps on her skin.  

He knows it’s not possible but he could swear their heartbeats are in synch.

“We’ll be okay.” she promises.

And he believes her.

Because as long as they are together, he doesn’t fear anything.

It’s the thought of losing her that…

She kisses him again.

Her lips barely brushes against his… Once… Twice… Her gaze seeks his… One of her hands leaves his hair to rest on the side of his neck… He answers her unspoken question by gently pressing his mouth against hers. It is a caress at first, tender like they never had time to share until now, then she tilts her head to the side in an invitation to deepen the kiss he is only too happy to accept. It is slow and it feels meaningful and he can almost _taste_ the feelings they’re both trying to pour in there.

The kiss turns into another and another until he feels her shiver too hard in the night breeze and he steps back, allowing her shirt to cover her properly once more, feeling bad for exposing her to cold like that. She tries to protest when he shrugs off his jacket and forces it around her shoulders but he won’t hear of it. She does look glad about the extra layer of fabric so he doesn’t mind if it’s his turn to freeze.

They sleep curled up around each other that night.

The next day, they reach Arkadia.

If Clarke’s and the others’ worried looks are to be believed, they are a sad sight. The endless line of survivors trickles past the camp’s gates under Marcus’ watchful eyes. He loses track of time a little, answering questions, offering encouragements to the tired faces… Abby has disappeared with Clarke when the last person steps inside and he orders the Gates shut. His guards are just as exhausted as he feels and he is glad for Bellamy who seems to pop up out of nowhere with suggestions that everyone go straight to their quarters for some proper rest.

He assures Marcus he can mend the fence with Miller, Clarke and Harper while everyone else get the sleep they deserve.

Marcus nods his assent.

It is chaos in the yard for a little while. People trying to orient themselves, gathering in small groups not to have to face the loneliness of their own room… He wanders around at random for a while until he stumbles on what unmistakably has been used as funeral pyres. Octavia is staring at one of them with that same hollow look on her face she has been wearing since Lincoln died – and he stops himself from thinking about who the second was for because he can’t quite process the number of friends they have lost yet.

He’s afraid for her, not sure what happens to a Match after they lost their other half. Indra didn’t seem to think it would be anything good.

He wants to tell Octavia he understands but how can he? The thought of losing Abby… It was worse than death. It was worse than _anything_. The hole it would leave in his life, the _void_ … But Abby’s soul isn’t the twin of his. And he knows it’s the first thing the girl will throw at his face. He doesn’t _feel_ like it makes a difference, Matches or not, because love is love and he can’t imagine feeling anything _more_ for anyone else.

When he thinks about it, what he feels is almost enough to terrorize him. Because it is big and bright and has no boundaries.

A hand slips in his and he stops staring at Octavia to look down at Abby. She’s sporting a knowing look and he sighs. “Can you try talking to her?”

“She lost him and you’re here.” Abby winces. “I don’t think I’m the one she wants to hear from right now.”

“But you went through that once.” He wouldn’t normally argue because that particular subject is best left alone but it’s _Octavia_ and he can’t bear to see her in pain. “You lost… Jake was… He _was_ your Match, wasn’t he?”

Matches aren’t always vocal about their bond, some don’t advocate it. He always assumed… Everyone more or less always assumed that the Griffins were Matched.

Pain flashes on her face for a second and then she shakes her head. “Matches are just genes mutations, you know. It’s not…” Her voice trails off and he can tell she doesn’t quite believe herself what she’s saying. “It never mattered to us that we weren’t Matched. We loved each other. We _chose_ each other.” Her eyes softens and she squeezes his hand. “And I don’t mind that _we_ ’re not Matched either but I’m starting to mind the filth.”

She lifts her eyebrows and gives him a pointed look and his lips twitch with amusement.

“I could use a shower.” he admits.

“A hot shower and a real bed.” she sighs, rolling her left shoulder back and forth a few times. “I’m so tired my whole body hurts.”

“Maybe you need a massage.” he suggests. He tries to sound casual and he fails.

“Are you volunteering, Chancellor Kane?” she teases, stepping back and pulling on his hand to make sure he follows. He tosses a last glance at Octavia and Abby grows serious once more. “You have to give her space. She’s not ready to listen right now.”

She’s right and he knows it but it’s difficult to leave the kid to suffer on her own.

Still, he lets Abby drag him inside the station’s wreckage and along the familiar corridors he has honestly thought at some points he wouldn’t see again.

It’s been more than a week since the fall down in Polis but he reads the same exhaustion he feels on the faces of the people they pass by. Days mediating the diplomatic fiasco and helping trying to restore some order in the city followed by days of walking have done nothing to help with the physical and mental exhaustion. He doesn’t even realize they’re still holding hands until they’re standing right in the middle of his quarters and she lets go to close the door.

She heads for his bathroom and he automatically follows only to back away when he sees her grabbing the hem of her shirt.

“Sorry.” he mumbled, awkwardly averting his eyes and taking two steps back.

“A lot of people are going to shower at the same time.” she counters and it sounds factual, _detached_ , but there’s something underneath. “Do you _really_ want to wait until I’m done and risk not getting to shower at all?”

He could ask why she isn’t washing herself in her own quarters but he finds himself smiling instead. “Not showering would be bad.”

“Very bad.” she approves. She slips her shirt off without further ado and he licks his lips at the newly uncovered skin. There are stretch marks on her stomach that he immediately feels the compulsion to kiss and learn, his eyes retrace the curve of her hipbones, _learn,_ and then wander up to the bra that used to be white but is now a pale faded yellow. She wrinkles her nose and awkwardly shuffles on her feet. “I’m going to burn those clothes.”

“They’re going to fall apart.” he jokes, tugging on his own shirt with a disgusted face. He doesn’t remember how long he has been wearing it but he thinks it is since the day he was sentenced to death. _Too long_ in any case.

She’s smiling when she comes closer and grabs a hold of the tattered fabric encrusted with sweat, blood and filth. He doesn’t resist, simply lifts his arms and lets her undress him like a child because he is too tired to protest. Once his shirt has joined hers on the floor, he runs his palms on the small of her back and then up, holding her gaze all the while, before unclasping her bra.

She’s tired too and she makes no move to push it down when it falls a bit down her shoulders so he slides it off for her and tosses it aside.

“You’re beautiful.” he murmurs, brushing his hand against one of her breasts. Be it the cool air or his touch, her nipples harden and he can’t help but lick his lips. “Are you sure showering together is a good idea, Abby? Because…”

He’s tired. But he’s not sure he’s _that_ tired and he doesn’t want to impose things on her that she doesn’t want – although _when_ has she ever let him do that?

“Shut up, Marcus.” she orders with a hint of amusement.

“Yes, Ma’am.” he chuckles, letting her cradle his left forearm in her hands. She’s careful when she runs the tips of her fingers over the wounds. The stitches fell away that very morning and as far as he can tell, he’s healing fine. She checks the other arm too and seems satisfied there is no danger in getting them wet because then her hands fly to her own belt.

There is nothing very romantic or sexy to the way they undress next. He bends down to untie his boots and sneaks hungry glances at her legs and everything else she uncovers with every new layer she takes off.

Finally getting under the streaming water is a relief. The cubicle is small though, not quite made for two people to share, but he’s quite happy with her solution to that problem. For a while, they just hug and let the water roll over them and all is good in the world. He tries not to notice the water pooling around their feet is brown with dirt.

He’s the first one to reach for the soap. It takes two coats before the water clears enough that they don’t feel like they’re covered in grime anymore. He’s careful when he rubs the soap into her skin, mindful of the fading bruises, and she touches him with the same amount of caution because the contusions on his ribs are still dark and yellow.

The touches are both innocent and loaded, they’re not _purposeful_ , but feeling her hands on him… It unravels him in ways that are difficult to explain. They kiss when she rubs shampoo in his hair, half laughing because she’s much better at doing that than he is – her hair is so tangled, it takes his comb and almost twenty minutes to sort it out but he doesn’t mind, because once wet it looks darker and he is fascinated by every little detail of her body.

A voice at the back of his mind – the voice that belongs to the responsible Chancellor he is supposed to be – tells him they’re wasting water and they should be more sensible with their stock. He can’t quite care. Not when Abby’s naked body is pressed against his and they’re both so clean and warm. His arms wraps around her and she leans her weight against his chest.

He’s half hard.

He’s exhausted and he thinks if he drops on a bed he will sleep like the dead but there is no scenario in which being naked with Abby Griffin doesn’t get him at least half hard. He’s been happy to follow her lead and ignore it but the way she wriggles now _is_ purposeful and he groans, letting his forehead fall against her shoulder. He’s a bit short of breath but he manages a soft “Abby…”.

She turns around in his arms and he kisses the fading rope marks on her neck, his hands roam on her back, brushing along her shoulder blades.

“I need you.” she whispers and it sounds so desperate he doesn’t even stop to think.

Suddenly they’re kissing and the tender care they just showed each other flies right out the window. The kiss is hungry and for a second his mind flashes back to Polis and the way she threw herself at him. It’s gone before he can linger on it. That wasn’t Abby. _This_ is Abby. And he’s loving it.

He loves the way she bites down on his bottom lip – not to hurt but just enough that he will open his mouth – so her tongue can do the rest. He loves how her hands seem to instinctively know how to touch him and he hisses when her fingers close around him because it’s almost _too much_. Pretending he hasn’t been thinking about this for a while would be a lie. He’s been picturing it, he’s been fantasizing about it and he’s been taking numerous cold showers with just that very idea in mind.

His brain freezes at some point. All he can do is react in a very primitive way to her touch. He groans and he nips at her flesh, sometimes licking the water that’s still raining down on them from her skin. His own hand finds its way to her thighs. She tosses her head back when he reaches between her legs, which gives him room to close his lips around a nipple. He sucks and nibbles and she _whimpers_ and he is ready to swear it is  the hottest sound he has heard in his life.

In an ideal universe, they would take their time. It wouldn’t be as frantic as it is now, as uncoordinated, but they’ve almost lost each other _so many times_ in the last couple of weeks that he thinks slow and sweet can wait. He will definitely worship her next time – because there would be a next time – for now it is all about… _feeling_.

He _does_ falter when she sinks to her knees because here it is again, this pleading look on her face, _the guilt_ , and he doesn’t want this to happen for the wrong reasons. He doesn’t have time to say anything though, when her mouth closes on him, he’s gone. It’s a done deal. All he can do is lean against the slippery wall and listen to the loud thumping of his heart.

He’s almost ready to burst by the time he remembers this isn’t about _him_ but _them_ and he pulls her up to brutally kiss her. If it was frantic before, now it is just plain madness. He’s desperate for release in a way he can’t remember having felt a lot over the years. _Still_ , he resists the urge to just lift her up and he reaches between her legs again. There’s a dull _thump_ when her head falls against the glass wall of the shower.

“Marcus…” she gasps and it is too much. His name on her lips, _like that_ … _It is too much_. 

“I love you.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can think them, he’s beyond proper understanding of what he’s even saying. He’s high on exhaustion and on _her_. “I love you. I _love_ you.” She grabs his face in her hands and forces him to look at her and it’s like the eye in the middle of a hurricane, it’s the calm before the storm. Suddenly his heartbeat slows and everything calms down and all that is left is _her_. And he’s _sure_ , he’s _never_ been _so_ sure in all his life. “I love you, Abby.”

Tears spring to her eyes but she blinks them away.

“I love you.” she answers.

Something _clicks_ into place. He feels it in chest, in his heart, in his _very_ soul.

And then the storm crashes on them again. _Desire_ is too overwhelming to be pushed aside again. He lifts her up, not even minding the strain on his wrists, and he slides home.

The noises she makes… The sweet nothings she whispers in his ear… Everything… Everything is _perfect_.

When they finally wash over them, their climaxes could have been better but first times are rarely mind-blowing and it was _great_ \- it _was_ perfect.

The water has long grown cold when they stagger out of the shower and to the main room. When she lets her towel fall to the floor and crawls on the bed, he wants to offer her a shirt but the dresser is far and he is literally about to drop from exhaustion so he just slips between the sheets with her and curls up tight around her.

He closes his eyes and the next second, he’s asleep.

He feels hangover when he wakes up, his head a bit fuzzy from too much sleep. They’ve moved away from each other during the night and Abby’s sprawled on her stomach next to him. He feels around the table next to the bed for the clock and startles a bit when he realizes they’ve been in for almost a turn of the clock.

“They don’t need us.” Abby mumbles. “We can stay in bed.”

He places the clock back down and frowns. “How do you know?”

“I’ve checked in with Clarke a couple of hours ago.” she hums, still sounding sleepy.

He lifts his eyebrows and rolls on his side, trailing his knuckles down her very naked shoulder. “Did you get dressed to do that or…”

“I borrowed a shirt and some pants.” she explains “Jackson has Medical under control and most of the camp is still resting. Clarke wants to talk to the Council at some point today but not now, so you can go back to sleep.”

He takes all that in stride. “You should have woken me up.”

“No point.” she shrugs without turning around to face him or even opening her eyes. “You need your rest. You still owe me a massage, Chancellor Kane.” She’s teasing in that very same way that used to drive him mad on the Ark. Now he simply chuckles and presses a kiss against her shoulder before slipping out of bed. She _does_ open her eyes then, propping herself on her elbow to look at him. “Don’t get up.”

She sounds almost disappointed and he’s not exactly the kind to look smug but he knows, right at this second, he _is_.

“Bathroom.” he says as way of an explanation. “Don’t worry, Chancellor Griffin. You will get your massage.”

Her lips twitch and there is something absolutely _dirty_ about her grin. “I like you calling me that.”

He’s not surprised. She likes giving him orders.

The trip to the bathroom and back doesn’t take him long and he’s relieved to be able to crawl back under the blankets because there is a chill in the air.

“Where were we…” he hums, brushing her hair to the side. She braided it at some point, probably when she wandered out earlier. He’s sorry he missed her wearing his clothes. That must have been a sight.

“You were about to give me a massage.” she replies, laughter in her voice.

It’s good to hear her sound like that. Not _haunted_ , not feeling guilty but just… _happy_.

How can he refuse her?

It appears very clear, very fast, that he’s not quite that gifted with massages. Instead of relaxing, she laughs. That’s how bad he is.

He lets her mock him for a while and then decides enough is enough. He pushes the sheets away from her skin, completely uncovering her body and he places his lips at the base of her nape before going down _slowly,_ following the bumps of her spine.

His hands feel the rugged patches of skin before his mouth reaches them and it sobers him up. He hasn’t paid any attention to them last night but now there they were, glaring, and he feels sick to his stomach. He brushes his fingertips against the scars from the shock-lashing, his face growing more somber. She glances at him over her shoulder with a frown, probably sensing the sudden tension, but he can’t look at her in the eyes.

“I’m sorry.” is all he can say and it’s not enough, _nowhere_ near enough. It’s not just the shock-lashing, it’s everything before that, everything they put to rest a long time ago but he has yet to apologize for.

Her frown deepens. “ _Don’t_. You told me…”

“It’s different.” he cuts her off, knowing where she’s going with this. “You weren’t yourself. When _I_ did this…”

“You had no choice.” she interrupts.

“We always have a choice.” he scoffs. “You kept _telling_ me this and I didn’t listen.”

“But you _did_ in the end.” she argues. “And now… Marcus, this was a long time ago. Don’t do that to yourself.”

He meets her eyes then and they stare at each other for the longest time. Eventually, he lowers his mouth to her spine again, kissing every scar in turn, letting his lips linger on them in a silent apology.

When he straightens up and he can’t see them anymore, he thinks it’s a trick of the light. He brushes his hand against her back and he only feels smooth skin. He glances at Abby but she rested her head on her folded elbows once more, eyes closed.

His heart beats fast and hard in his chest. He doesn’t know if he hopes or if he fears. He doesn’t know if he’s surprised or if he always knew.

Then, he has a second of blind panic because this is _huge_.

He rubs the skin and presses with his thumbs but the scars are _gone_.

“Marcus, I love you but you’re really bad at massages.” she mocks.

The words give him a thrill. They’ve been spoken in the rush of the moment the previous night and it feels good to hear them tossed so casually, to know she means them.

It calms him down. So what if she is his Match? It doesn’t change anything. It probably _explains_ everything actually. Why they’ve always gravitated around each other, either tearing themselves apart or putting each other back together… The feeling of _rightness_ when they kissed for the first time… This strange sensation that something has fallen into place the previous night… And…

_A match is a precious thing, Marcus…_

He peers at her back in the semi darkness, looking for another scar, because he _needs_ to be sure it wasn’t a fluke, but he can’t find any. He knows where to find one though so he nudges her on her back. Her eyes are twinkling with amusement and he doesn’t have it in him to protest when she draws him down for a kiss. He’s distracted though and it makes her frown. “What’s wrong?”

He licks his lips and awkwardly clears his throat. Because if he’s mistaken…

“Nothing’s _wrong_.” he promises. “But…”

His voice trails off and he winces.

She averts her eyes and, for a moment, she looks embarrassed. “Do you want me to go? I’m sorry I thought you wanted me to stay, I…”

“No.” he’s quick to deny. “Of course, I want you to stay, Abby.”

She studies him and then cups his cheek, he leans into the caress and presses a kiss on the inside of her wrist. She smiles a little but she doesn’t look convinced everything is fine. “Then, what’s wrong?”

“I kissed your scars.” he hesitates.

“And?” she insists but he can tell she’s catching up. He’s ready for her to react in a thousand different ways but the only thing that crosses her face is _hope_.

“And I want to try on another one.” he says. “Just to be _sure_.”

He’s aiming for the scar on her hip from Mount Weather but she stops him with a hand on his chest.

“How sure are you?” she asks in a whisper.

“All the scars on your back are gone.” he answers.

“No.” She shakes her head. “How _sure_ are you?”

She’s not talking about the scars or even about fate and souls, he realizes suddenly. She’s talking about _them_. There is a choice to make here. They could simply ignore the elephant in the room and go on as they used to. They don’t need to _know_.

Except Marcus _already_ knows.

He’s known _well_ before he kissed her for the first time.

It feels as if he’s known even before he _saw_ her for the first time.

It’s a difficult sort of knowledge to explain. It’s buried deep, in the very foundations of his being.

And he _loves_ her – with everything he has and for all eternity.

“One hundred percent.” he offers without a hesitation.

She relaxes then.

He doesn’t try to stop her when she brings his wrist to her mouth and kisses the still fresh scar. The mark is gone when she draws back. Her eyes are shiny with tears. Erasing scars doesn’t erase the actions behind them but it _does_ feel good to be able to repair that much.

He leans in to kiss her. Because he can and because he _needs_ to.

“Keyron tein.” he whispers with adoration against her lips.

“I love you.” she answers.

And that’s all he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Let me know!


	35. Kidnapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Christmas week! And this is a gift for my dear kabby squad! I know you lot like angst so… you get angst (Yes, Sam, I know it’s not angsty enough but I did my best). Thanks for those last couple of months of uninterrupted fangirling and laughing! It had been a real pleasure to be with you lately <3 
> 
> This takes place between S2 and S3 because it’s my favorite place to write ;)

It was one of those days when Marcus was desperate to find five minutes to sit down. He had been running from one end of camp to the other all day, settling disputes, trying to figure how best to fix the problems that were arising with the new housing area, generally trying to follow what Raven was talking about and mostly failing until Sinclair took over with much simpler words and better analogies… Filling in for Abby while she was away wasn’t as fun or rewarding as he had thought being Chancellor would be on the Ark.

He had skipped lunch, too engrossed in the current question of: were they risking an eventual mudslide destroying everything if they built houses on the left of the Ark’s wreckage and there was a torrential downpour one day. He was inspecting the ground – or pretending too because he had no real idea what he was looking at – nodding at what the head of the work crew was saying when Jackson showed up at the edge of his vision, looking a bit uncertain as he shuffled on his feet.

Taking the young man’s appearance as a providential way of getting how out of this, at least for a little while – he wouldn’t take a decision by himself, he needed to consult with Abby and, as Chancellor, she was the one who had final say anyway – he quickly excused himself and walked over to the doctor’s assistant.

“You need to see me?” he asked.

He almost _prayed_ for an incident in Medical. Something that would require him to act as a _guard_ and not as a Councilman. He loved both of his jobs, he _did_ , but all he had dealt with all day were petty arguments and problems easily solved – until the housing question, at least – and he was eager for a distraction. Besides, there was _always_ a possibility to hide for a few minutes in Medical… Their Chancellor would harbor him. She would laugh at him, sure – when didn’t she? – but she would hide him for a while, let him rest for a couple of minutes and, maybe, even make him some tea. He could go with a quiet friendly conversation.

“I was wondering if you knew how much longer the Mount Weather expedition was going to be?” Jackson looked hopeful if a bit sheepish. “It’s just… Abby was supposed to be back by now. We booked a lot of people for implant removal this afternoon and I’m swamped.”

“They’re not back?” he frowned.

They should have been. For two hours at least.

Jackson shrugged and then shook his head. “I don’t think so. Abby never showed up and she was supposed to bring back equipment…”

Which was why she had gone on the mission in the first place despite his protests.

He reached for his radio, not liking the feeling of foreboding in his stomach. “Miller, has the Mount Weather scavenging team come back yet?”

Maybe they were and Abby had gotten stuck somewhere, much like he had been all morning. He would have been notified though. He was notified every time the Gates opened for someone. And he should have _noticed_ that they had missed the scheduled arrival, he should have…

_“Negative, sir_.” David Miller answered.

His unease increased.

“Those teams are late all the time…” Jackson ventured. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Probably not.” he answered, forcing himself to sound reassuring. “Go back to Medical. Cancel what you can’t handle on your own, I’m sure Abby will understand.”

Jackson nodded and did as he was told. Marcus turned back to the head of the work crew and made his excuses with the promise to take a closer look at the problem at the earliest opportunity. Then, he rushed to the fence as quickly as he could without breaking into a run, not keen on alerting anyone that something was amiss.

The Mount Weather scavenging teams were always late, that was true… But they didn’t usually have their Chancellor with them.

Getting everything that could be used out of Mount Weather was a necessity, both he and Abby agreed on that. It was stupid to let resources like that go to waste but the mountain was a sensitive subject with the Grounders. Indra had warned them that they couldn’t be seen _colonizing_ the mountain, that if they were perceived to become the new Mountain Men, the fragile truce would break…

He had been against Abby going with them. _Send Jackson_ , he had told her because she was too valuable to risk like that. They were in good terms with Trikru, they weren’t in so good terms with other clans. Some had accepted their presence and were happy to trade with them, others were still wary and challenged the Commander’s order to respect the truce. There hadn’t been an armed incident since Mount Weather, though, at most, dissident Grounders made a show of ambushing their recon teams, scared them a little and sent them back to Arkadia. But one or two clans were more volatile than others and he didn’t like the idea of their Chancellor out there in unsecured territory.

It was one thing for Abby to visit other clans with whom they had a good relationship. It was another to go to Mount Weather with a minimal escort.

But she had been desperate to grab some medical equipment and she was as stubborn as ever. Their teams had been going to and from the mountain without encountering any real problem for weeks, it had even been made easier by Raven’s repairing one of the Rovers. She had a team working on the others, which would allow them to bring even more stuff with each trip and Marcus couldn’t deny he liked the cars. He wasn’t as at ease behind the wheel as the kids seemed to be but he enjoyed it all the same – even if Raven insisted he drove like a grandpa who was scared a tree would jump in front of him.

The point was, Abby had insisted it was safe enough and had literally ordered him to stop worrying so much about her. He hadn’t liked it at all but he had relented _because_ there had been no incidents so far. And because Bellamy had agreed to go with her and he trusted the boy to keep her safe.

When he joined him on top of the fence, David Miller nodded once at him and then made a face. “I’m sorry, sir. I should have noticed the delay but the fence didn’t seem to work on the south front anymore and…”

“I know.” he cut him off. “Engineering is on it.”

It had been the lecture he had had to go through from Raven and then later from Sinclair, a problem of overloading the generators because of the housing development work crew or something like that.

“I tried to contact them but either they’re out of range or…” Miller hesitated, letting his sentence trail off in a way that wasn’t good. But to be fair, the idea Miller had were probably as _not good_ as his own.

It was possible the scavenging had taken more time than planed or maybe there had been a problem with the Rover… But the fact that nobody had contacted Arkadia yet… It didn’t sit well with him.

And he had that impending doom feeling in his guts. 

“I’m heading out to meet them.” he decided. “I’ll take Harper, Octavia and your son with me. You’re in charge of the guards until the Chancellor or I get back.”

He didn’t want to leave the camp unprotected by taking too many soldiers and the kids were those who had the most experience on the ground anyway. Octavia could track them down if necessary and Harper and Miller were his best cadets.

He quickly found Sinclair and left him in charge of the _political_ aspect of things – to the man’s obvious dismay – before heading back to the courtyard where his team had gathered, briefed by Miller. Octavia looked impatient, worried for her brother, probably, and was already on top of her horse. Harper was too. Miller, like him, didn’t look as happy about the means of transportation.

The boy made a face when he spotted him. “Do we _have_ to go on horses?”

“It will be quicker.” he answered, making a note to ask Raven to get a move on with the other cars. It took him two attempts to get on top of the horse – and it was just his luck that they had picked a temperamental one for him – to Octavia’s amusement. “No comment.” he warned the girl.

She rolled her eyes. “At least, you don’t fall down anymore. I told you I could teach you a thing or two.”

“That’s your excuse for calling me an old man.” he accused, taking the lead of the group.

The Gates parted for them and he spurred the house forward, not quite at a gallop but… They went fast up until they reached the woods at the base of the mountain, it was trickier up there. He took advantage of that to swallow down the emergency power bar he kept in the pocket of his jacket – well… Abby had taken to hide power bars in there because she claimed he tended to forget to eat sometimes.

They tried to contact them through radio several times but to no avail.

The woods were too silent and Marcus didn’t like it. Neither did Octavia if the looks she kept throwing him meant anything. They all kept a hand on their weapons without him having to give the order.

They spotted the Rover first.

It was unmistakable, a mass of black against the green of the forest, crushed to the ground by a tree. It looked like an accident at first. A dead tree that had fallen down at the wrong moment.

Then, Marcus spotted the bodies.

He lifted his hand to order his team to stop and he hopped down the horse, imitated by the others, keeping his gun ready to fire. Octavia had her sword out and was looking around warily.

“I think they’re gone.” she whispered.

Marcus wasn’t sure. An ambush could hide another.

He fought his instinct to rush to the dead men on the ground. He fought his instinct to _look_.

“Octavia, help me secure a perimeter.” he ordered. “Harper, Miller, look for survivors.”

He didn’t think they _would_ find survivors. The dust was clogged with blood. And he didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to…

The thought of finding _Abby_ …

It was cowardly to send the kids to look for him. It was cowardly and it went against _everything_ his guts were screaming at him. But it was _Abby_ and he couldn’t… 

Asserting they were alone didn’t take very long. Octavia was right, whoever had done that had moved on. As soon as she made sure of that, the girl rushed to the bodies clad in black.

“Bellamy isn’t here.” Harper said, sounding a bit shaken. “I can’t find the Chancellor either.”

Marcus breathed more easily. He and Octavia took a look around. He searched the Rover, glanced at the untouched boxes that came straight from Mount Weather, looked for clues… There was no hint that Abby had even been there. No hint that…

“Ice Nation.” Octavia spat, rolling one of the only Grounders’ corpse on his back.

“Why would they take them?” Miller asked. “They killed the others. Why would…”

“Because Abby’s our leader and their Queen will want to do it herself.” the girl shrugged. “Bellamy…” Her face crumpled with worry. “I don’t know about Bellamy…”

“So they’re taking Abby back to Azgeda?” Harper asked.

“Over my dead body.” Marcus growled. “Miller, contact Arkadia. Ask for backup. And tell them to warn Trikru, see what Indra can do. We’re going after them.” He was back on his horse before he even realized what he was doing. “Tell them to put the camp on lockdown. Octavia, lead the way.”

Octavia was their best tracker and it didn’t take her long to find a trail.

Everything was _his_ fault, Marcus mused. He should have forbidden Abby from going. He should have put his foot down. He should have assigned more guards to those scavenger parties. He should have…

The list was endless.

And he couldn’t help but going over and over it again and again.

Thirty minutes later, they found Bellamy’s body in the middle of the path.

Marcus’ blood ran cold.

Octavia was the first one down her horse though, shouting her brother’s name. It was Marcus who rolled him on his back though, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the boy was alive and conscious. Short-lived relief though. The wound on his stomach looked deep and serious. He immediately put pressure on it, snatching the first aid kit from Harper’s hand and doing what he could with his limited experience.

“They’ve… They’ve got… Abby…” Bellamy stammered, looking straight at him. “I’m… I’m sorry… Kane… I tried to… Tried to go after…”

“We know. It’s okay.” he told him, worried by the gurgling sounds the boy was making. “It’s okay, Bellamy. You did good.”

“It wasn’t… planned.” the young man insisted. “They… They recognized her but… They didn’t know… What to do… With her… The… ambush was just… ambush…”

“Which is a good thing.” Octavia cut in. “They won’t kill her without their queen’s permission. We just need to get them first.”

Bellamy tried to stand up, claiming he could help, but Marcus pinned him down to the ground without much efforts, with a simple hand on his shoulder. He didn’t like at all the small whine that escaped the kids’ lips.

“Harper, stay with him.” he ordered, waiting until the girl had taken his place by Bellamy’s side to squeeze her arm. “Don’t let him die.”

“Yes, sir.” she nodded.

They got back on the road. Marcus didn’t like the odds of the three of them against who knew how many enemies but he didn’t feel they had a choice. Letting them take Abby to Azgeda wasn’t an option.

Night had fallen down for a while when Octavia suddenly signaled them to get off their horses. She placed a finger on her lips and they followed her between the trees, trying to be as stealthy as she was. It wasn’t long before they saw the light of a campfire and they dropped to the ground, crawling between bushes to take a closer look at the clearing.

There were two Grounders on guard duty on either side of the small camp. Four were asleep under heavy blankets. And Abby was kneeling not too far from the fire, her hands bound behind her back, gagged, and looking worse for the wear. Her hair was loose and hid most of her face as her head was bowed but he thought half of it was covered in blood.

The fact that she had been hurt made him furious but he swallowed that down. He needed to keep a clear head.

The odds weren’t _that_ bad, after all. With their guns, they could take six Grounders.

However, Abby would be caught in the crossfire and that…

He didn’t see any way around it though. Backup wouldn’t be there for a couple of hours and waiting was taking the risk that they got up before dawn and left. It would also make them lose the surprise effect.

Miller was a good shot.

So was he.

They could take them down.

It would make things tense with Polis and Lexa would probably have some work to do to smooth ruffled feather but the _Jus drein jus daun_ rule should protect them from an open war breaking out with Azgeda. They had attacked first, after all.

When Marcus glanced at him, Miller immediately nodded, having already worked out what he wanted of him. He silently pointed out the Grounders he wanted the kid to take down and crawled further away to get an open line of fire for his.

Abby’s chest was rising and falling fast. She was discreetly struggling with the ropes holding her wrists together, probably trying to get free…

He wasn’t quite sure what her plan was once she would be. He wasn’t quite sure she had thought that far.

He waited until Octavia had crouched in the shadows, ready to jump in if the fight got physical, before making eye contact with Miller. He nodded once.

They took the first shot.

Both Grounders on watch duty fell but the noise roused the others from slumber.

“Abby, down!” Marcus shouted. She immediately rolled out of the way and he let loose a stream of bullets that caught two Grounders, Miller got the third. The fourth…

The fourth grabbed Abby and forced her up in front of him, like a human shield, his knife at her throat.

“Hold your fire!” Marcus ordered, scrambling up and walking out of the trees, in open sight. He didn’t lower his gun though. “Breik em au.” he ordered the man, never taking his eyes off him. Abby’s stare was boring a hole into him but he didn’t meet her gaze. His finger was on the trigger… It was a good thing she was so short really because the head was a perfect target… But the knife was digging in her throat so hard he could see a trickle of blood and he didn’t want to risk shooting if it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t want to… “Breik em au!” he repeated, stronger. _Let her go._

“Em wamplei gon Azgedas koma.” the Grounder spat.

Marcus fired before the words even registered, reacting to the muscle of the man’s arm twitching as he got ready to slice her throat.

_Her death for the Ice Nation’s glory…_

Abby fell as the man collapsed, the blade catching her a little down her neck. She scrambled away as much as she could with her arms bound, her eyes wide, choking a little on the gag in her mouth. Marcus dropped to his knees next to her as the kids walked out of the shadows, immediately freeing her from the old cloth and framing her face in his hands to keep her still. Octavia was already taking her knife out to cut the rope that was trapping her. As soon as she was free, her fingers coiled around his wrists, digging into his flesh.

“Are you alright?” he asked, inspecting the cut on her throat. It didn’t look that deep so he moved on to her forehead because the skin of her cheek was encrusted with blood. She must have been hit with something heavy, it looked like a bad blow but the bleeding had stopped and she seemed coherent enough. “Abby, are you _alright_?”

“I’m fine.” she replied eventually, in a shaky voice, flashing Octavia and Miller a brief grateful smile. “The others…”

“I know.” he told her, helping her to her feet. She wasn’t particularly steady and he didn’t let go of her arms.

“Are they all…” she asked.

“Bellamy made it.” he told her, steering away from the Grounders’ bodies and toward where they had left the horses, keeping her against his side in case she was light-headed. He heard Miller updating the backup team behind him through the radio. The clever thing might have been to set camp somewhere and wait for them to arrive but Marcus wouldn’t be happy until they were all back in the safety of Arkadia. He had let his Chancellor slip through his fingers once, it wouldn’t happen twice. Besides, he would only feel better once Jackson had had a look at her and swore she was in one piece. “Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

She nodded, touching her throat with a wince, and then forcing a smile. “I was going to escape, you know. I had it all figured out.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. It was a bit hysterical, and the horse stepped to the right at the sound, but he couldn’t help himself. He had ignored it for most of the day but he had been so… _terrified_. She seemed surprised when he pulled her into a bone crushing hug but she immediately embraced him back, wrapping her arms around his torso and grabbing his shoulder from behind.

“Don’t get kidnapped by Grounders again.” he requested against her hair.

“Not so fun to be the one who has to stay behind, is it?” she joked weakly.

“Point taken.” he granted. “Neither of us is getting kidnapped again.”

“I can live with that.” she agreed, half laughing.

Octavia cleared her throat and they awkwardly broke apart, not quite looking anyone in the eyes.

“Let’s go home.” he declared.

Octavia offered to share her horse with Abby since she was the best rider and he and Miller were armed with guns but Marcus declined before their Chancellor could. He had spent the whole day dreading to find her dead… He wasn’t going to let her go that easily. He helped her in front of him. It wasn’t comfortable but he only truly relaxed once she leaned against his chest.

“I knew you would come after me.” she whispered eventually. “I wasn’t really worried.”

“I’ll always come after you.” he promised, discreetly squeezing her thigh. She turned her head to look at him and the moment felt heavy, heavier than he was comfortable with given that Miller and Octavia kept throwing them glances. “I can’t let my Chancellor die…” he smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “It would leave a black mark on my record.”

“No, we can’t have _that_.” she snorted but she discreetly covered the hand on her thigh with her own.

She settled back straight, this time leaning her whole weight on his chest.

And, for the first time since he had spotted the Rover, he breathed easily.


	36. Tokens Of Appreciation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And my last gift goes to Akachankami! Best beta ever and also best of friends! I love you very much, even when you’re jelly, even when you take two hours to make tea, even when you’re so busy cleaning you forget about me XD. You’re my awesome unicorn (crossed with a panda, very oddly shaped animal result if you think about it) !

Snow scrunched under his boots as Marcus slowly followed in Abby’s footsteps, attentive to their surroundings more out of habit than out of fear that anything would go wrong. His gaze swept around the woods only to automatically come back on the three women in front of him. He couldn’t quite make out the words Lexa, Indra and Abby were exchanging but he had no doubt she was negotiating hard on Arkadia’s behalf.

The truce had been holding for weeks now but there was talks of turning it into a real alliance, of making Arkadia the thirteenth clan… Those things took time though and thus they were mostly focusing on more trade agreements that day. It had been Lexa’s idea to walk around while they discussed it instead of locking themselves in a room, the Commander seemed to enjoy the newly fallen snow and the exercise.

Marcus was careful to keep the same pace as the two Grounders walking alongside him. He wasn’t sure if the distance between the leaders and their guards was codified but he didn’t want to accidentally give offense so he had been making sure to follow their lead. When they had fallen back so the women could have some privacy, he had too.

Lexa and Indra didn’t seem bothered by the uneven treacherous ground but Abby wasn’t faring that well. She often stumbled on roots, prompting him to take a few steps forward to catch her before he remembered himself and stuck _behind_ where was his place. She was the Chancellor and he was the commander of her guards… It was her job to negotiate the treaties and his to make sure nothing happened to her.

“Skaikrus heda din ste gona.” Lexa’s guard muttered with open loathing when Abby slipped on a patch of ice. It was only thanks to Indra’s quick reflexes that she didn’t fall.

Marcus couldn’t hear the words but he knew her different smiles and could guess she was thanking the other woman who nodded once in dismissal.

_The sky people’s leader isn’t a warrior…_

The remark didn’t sit well with him. Trikru had accepted their presence and their relations were good but the other Grounders… They didn’t have much respect for the Arkers. They thought them _weak_. And weakness, in Grounder’s culture, was never good. 

“Skaikrus heda ste fisa.” he retorted, calm but firm enough to imply that he wouldn’t tolerate any badmouthing. _The sky people’s leader is a healer._

“Ste belaik sak?” the guard scoffed. “Fisa din hed op emo kru gon wor.”

_Is that wise? Healers can’t lead their people to war._

“Abi kom Skaikru ste yuj.” Indra’s man cut in.

 _Abby from the sky people is strong_.

It was laconic but clear enough and Marcus thanked him with a small nod.

Lexa’s guard scoffed again though. “Ai don sen in em din gon daun. Dison laik din uf.”

_I heard she cannot fight. That’s not strength._

“Em na fis op. Dison laik uf.” Marcus replied coldly. _She can heal. That is strength._ And, because he sensed there was a challenge there and that it wouldn’t do to let them think Arkadia’s leader was vulnerable…  “Nion trana bash em op wan op gon ai meika.”   _Anyone who tries to harm her will die at my hands._

Indra’s man chuckled and clasped Lexa’s guard’s shoulder. “Din god em. Markus kom Saikru ste os gona.”

_Don’t goad him. Marcus from the sky people is a great warrior._

The other Grounder looked dubious but didn’t pursue the matter, probably not eager to start a fight. Marcus swallowed back a sigh.

There was still a long way to go to reach peace.

They had circled back to the Grounder village and the three women regained the building Lexa had been so eager to avoid in the first place. He pulled Abby’s chair for her and was rewarded with a smile that he answered with one of his own. He stood behind her while they put the final touches to the trade agreements, only giving his input when Abby requested it. Once they were done, Indra asked her if she would see to a sick woman somewhere in the village, something she immediately agreed on, shifting from _Chancellor_ to _doctor_ almost with relief.

“I vouch for her safety, my friend.” Indra promised him, when he automatically followed.

Abby briefly squeezed his arm in reassurance. “I will see you later at the party. Go explore. Have some fun, Marcus.”

He didn’t really like it, mainly because they hadn’t been allowed to bring an escort and, while he trusted Indra, it was _his_ job to make sure his Chancellor was safe. Never mind the fact that he really wanted _Abby_ to be safe.

He heard Lexa’s guard muttering to Indra’s warrior that he now understood why Marcus was so eager to bend the knee for Arkadia’s leader. The joke was crude and he didn’t understand all the words but it was enough for him to clench his jaw in distaste at the blatant disrespect.

Before he could say anything though, Lexa invited him to walk around with her, with a glare for her guard that promised many retributions to come. He liked the girl and he gradually relaxed, taking the opportunity to put the problem of Lincoln on the table. She was receptive to the idea of lifting the kill order on his head but she didn’t really promise anything.

They separated when night fell and the party started. Indra had explained it was tradition for Grounders to have a celebration after the first snow of the year, a way to mark the year that had passed and the one to come.

Huge fires were lit, the sound of music drifted in the air, a few children started dancing, soon joined by some of the adults… Left and right people were exchanging small gifts, tokens of appreciation that were supposed to show you valued them… They had brought a basket of Arkadia’s first harvest for the village…

He had just let a little girl convince him to try his hand at dancing – he tried to follow the steps she was showing him and failed miserably – when he felt someone staring at him. Abby was leaning against the side of a house, watching him with a fond amused smile on her face. He made his excuses to the child and joined her.

“Breaking hearts everywhere you go…” she teased. “I can’t leave you alone for two minutes.”

“How’s your patient?” he asked. She had been gone a long time…

“I will come back in a few days to check on her.” she informed him. “If she hasn’t improved, we will bring her back with us… I can do more at camp than I can here.” He nodded his understanding but, before he could suggest they made medical treatment a part of the next agreement, she grinned, her eyes twinkling in that way that often meant he was in for a lot of trouble. “So… I hear you’re threatening to kill everyone who lies a hand on me…”

“How…” he frowned. They had been too far to hear his words and Abby wasn’t fluent enough in Trigedasleng to have understood him anyway. The answer was obvious though and he didn’t bother finishing his question. “Indra.” Or Indra’s guard more probably.

“Trust me, I appreciate the sentiment.” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “But I’m not sure threatening our allies in the middle of a treaty is a very good idea…”

“We can’t be the weakest link, Abby.” he countered. “If we want to do this peacefully, they need to respect us. And I don’t want any of them getting any idea. Just because you’re not a warrior…”

“Nobody is going to murder me in my bed, Marcus.” she rebuked him, a bit too confident for his tastes.

“You don’t know that. Not all the clans are happy with having us around.” he pointed out. “The Ice Nation…”

“I _do_ know that.” she cut him off. “You won’t let anything happen to me.” He wanted to object but the blind trust she was putting in him rendered him speechless. She squeezed his forearm once before letting go. “But let’s not make it a challenge, alright?”

She had a point, he figured, although his was just as valid.

They would need to find a middle ground on the matter but he wasn’t worried. They had been good at meeting halfway lately.

“Alright.” he granted. _For now_.

She was stubborn about not wanting guards shadowing her everywhere she went and he was equally stubborn about making sure she was protected at all times.

It was his job, his duty, and his privilege.

“I have something for you.” she said, taking him a little by surprise. “Since this celebration is about showing appreciation…” She shrugged, a bit hesitant, and unzipped her jacket to fish something out of her inner pocket. It was a thin soft-cover book that looked very old. “It comes from Mount Weather.” she explained before adding with a cheeky smile: “Chancellor’s pick.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in Chancellor’s pick?” he teased, accepting the book with genuine gratitude. It was a poem collection and it made him smile that she knew his tastes so well.

Chancellor’s pick was something he had more or less invented on the spot when he had claimed one of the Mount Weather’s couches for the war room – and that he had been using ever since, mainly because he knew Abby would be the last to choose from the loads they were bringing back. She regularly claimed _he_ couldn’t invoke Chancellor’s pick right, given that he _wasn’t_ Chancellor, but she also usually liked what he sneaked out for her so the complaining was usually short-lived.

“It has its uses.” she chuckled, tilting her head to the side. “What do you have for me?”

“Who says I have _anything_?” he retorted, pocketing the book. “We never said we were doing gifts… Maybe I’m really embarrassed right now because I have nothing for you…”

“That’s not your embarrassed face.” she dismissed easily, still grinning like a child on Unity Day.

“Because you know what my embarrassed face looks like?” he challenged. She probably did, truth be told, he had certainly done enough things to make himself a fool in front of Abby Griffin over the years.

“About earlier… Maybe you’re right and we should be more careful about me not getting murdered in my bed… Maybe you should start sleeping with me…” she declared, so out of the blue he almost choked.

“What?” he frowned, certain he must have heard her wrong.

If anything, the grin now looked not only pleased but _smug_. “ _That_ ’s your embarrassed face. You are an open book to me, Marcus Kane.”

“You’re not playing fair.” he complained.

“Never.” she admitted. “You should know by now. Can I have my gift?”

He rolled his eyes, unable to quite fight the smile off his lips, and reached into his pocket to pull out a simple silver necklace. He could tell it wasn’t what she had been expecting because she gasped a little. He wondered if it might have been too much. Or inappropriate.

He wasn’t quite sure where they stood. They had known each other for a very long time and there had always been _a tension_ between them. One that they would never have explored before the Ark fell to the Ground, for obvious reasons. Nowadays though… Nowadays they flirted at any given chance and they were growing… _closer_.

“I noticed you were having troubles with the clasp…” He waved uncertainly to the chain she always wore around her neck, weighted down by Jake’s wedding band. “I thought…”

“Thank you.” she breathed out, clutching it tight in her hand.

He wasn’t really expecting the kiss she planted on his cheek. It was just a peck but he ducked his head a little to hide his too pleased smile.

He let himself enjoy the party after that, forcing himself to hope that Indra’s word and Lexa’s presence would be enough guarantees for her safety, and hoping, despite his best honorable intentions, that someday soon he would have another excuse to share her tent than just the need to protect her at night.


	37. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short piece taking place on the Ark pre-show… Thanks to Cami for the beta !

When she heard the door being shut behind her, Abby silently rolled her eyes. She had ducked in her office to get a file. In and out, she had told herself, an easy job. The medical bay was swamped with patients and she had been focused on coordinating her team’s efforts since that morning. Flu outbreaks weren’t unusual but they needed to get a hand on the contagion before it spread to the entire Ark.

“Unless you’re here to be brought up to speed about the flu situation, I don’t have time.” she declared, not bothering to check who had invaded her office without even knocking. She had seen their _dear_ Chief of the guards lurking around Medical all day and had done a splendid job of avoiding him. She wasn’t in the mood for the headache that dealing with Marcus Kane always involved. “And if you feel sick, there are plenty of doctors out there who can help you.”

“You’re my doctor.” he pointed out.

“Not anymore.” she snapped.

Not since he had arrested her husband and her daughter. Not since…

She squeezed the ring that was dangling from her neck and briefly closed her eyes, making sure to keep her back turned while she rummaged on her slightly disorganized desk for another imaginary file. Anything not to have to face him.

If Kane picked up on the anger in her tone, he didn’t let on.

“Is the outbreak serious?” he asked, just as detached as usual. As if human lives weren’t at stake. Or maybe he hoped that the flu would eradicate enough people for their oxygen problem to be solved.

“I’m about to place Areo Station in quarantine.” she declared. “You can hear all about it at the next Council meeting. If that’s all you…”

“Do you remember the _hypothetical_ conversation we _didn’t_ have a week ago?” he cut her off, in his _you’re in trouble_ voice.

She took a deep breath to keep calm – because she felt a serious urge to hit him every time they were in the same room and, for some reason, their Chancellor objected to that – and finally turned around to face him, hands on her hips, the file she had been looking for crumpled in her fist.

“I don’t exactly call you cornering me at lunch a conversation, Kane.” she countered.

His face was just as carefully schooled as usual. It didn’t betray _anything_.

He was such a _robot_ sometimes… She didn’t know how he could live like that, compartmentalize everything to the point of feeling _nothing_.

“Harold Grayman.” he said.

“He’s a nurse.” she shrugged. It was unnecessary though. If Kane had his name, he probably knew that.

“He’s the one who’s been stealing and trading morphine for weeks.” he told her. She flicked her braid over her shoulder in annoyance. She had hoped it would turn out to be someone who didn’t work in Medical. He folded his arms in front of his chest in what she supposed to be an intimidating pose. “I need to ask this… Did you look the other way?”

She glared at him. “You _don’t_ need to ask this.”

“Yes, I do.” he argued.

“No, you _don’t_. You’re just looking for an excuse to arrest me.” she scoffed. “Wasn’t that what your _hypothetical conversation_ the other day was about?”

“It was a _warning_.” he retorted. “As your friend…”

“We are _not_ friends!” she spat. “We stopped being friends the moment you…” She fell silent, took a deep breath and mirrored his position. Two could play at being intimidating. “What do you want? He stole morphine. You don’t need my permission to arrest him.”

“I told you last week.” he growled, clearly frustrated with her. “Several people have reported that you’re too liberal with meds, reports I buried at the bottom of the pile – _as a favor to you_.”

“You don’t do anyone favors, Kane. You need a heart to do favors. You don’t have one.” she snorted bitterly. Hurt flashed on his face but she decided it must have been her imagination. “And anyway… If you think I broke the law, just arrest me. You have no proof.”

“I hope so.” he scowled. “Because we’re going to have to inspect every case that man worked on and _if_ I find _irregularities…”_

“Do you think I’m stupid?” she interrupted him, glaring harder. “The system is here for a reason. It’s not perfect and I certainly wish we could do _better_ – and I’ve been working on that with the Council for years – but _I know_ why we must stick to it.”

“You flirt with the line every day.” he accused. “Several people…”

“I will never cross that line without a good reason.” she cut him off. “And the day I do, you can finally get a thrill and float me. Now, sorry, but I’ve got work to do…”

She attempted to leave but he was blocking the door and he didn’t move an inch.

“I’m only trying to help you.” he said quietly.

It wasn’t the first time he had made that claim since the day Jake had been floated. She didn’t know if it was out of guilt for his dead best friend or because he felt bad about taking both her husband and her daughter away from her… They used to be friends too, once upon a time, of a sort at least. They had never seen eye to eye in politics and they usually argued more than was healthy for two grown adults but she had never hated him. _Before_.

“And I told you to _stop_!” she sneered. “I don’t need your help, I don’t need your guilt and I certainly don’t need your friendship. With friends like you, who needs enemies?”

“I don’t feel guilty.” he denied, not even addressing the rest. “It was the right thing to do and…”

“ _Shut_ _up_.” she growled, lifting her hand only to let it fall. It still hurt so _badly_. It had been months now but it was still so painful… Sometimes it felt as if it would never stop. And she wasn’t sure she wanted it to stop. She wasn’t sure the absence of that pain would be any better. As long as she was in pain, Jake was with her. “Just do your job, Kane, and let me do mine.”  

He gave her a small nod and stepped aside, setting her free – from her own _damn_ office.

She _hated_ that pompous _ass_.


	38. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hadn’t written anything for that episode yet (4x01) and… Well. Smut happened. Thanks to Akachankami for the beta!

 

“Your room, ambassador.”

Echo spits the words, the poisonous venom so thick in her voice that Marcus takes a step in front of Abby without thinking twice about it. The young woman doesn’t like them and she might have forged a bond with Bellamy somehow but it definitely doesn’t extend to him or Abby. Maybe she’s angry to have been demoted from War Chief to glorified baby-sitter or maybe it is just the fact that her advices to have them killed went ignored…

Marcus isn’t sure.

And he doesn’t quite care.

In time, he would have to try and change her mind but that could wait.

“Chancellor.” Abby corrects, easily stepping aside to stand next to him. Her voice is soft and hard at the same time, in that particular way of hers he has always marveled at. She stares straight at the blond warrior without flinching. “Not ambassador.”

They haven’t really discussed the Chancellor issue yet although he supposes there isn’t a lot more to talk about. Abby doesn’t want the job – or rather would prefer for him to have it – and there is no way they are tempting fate by bringing Jaha into this. Pike is dead, power falls back on the Council… They don’t have a Council anymore… He is a little confused about what the Charter would have to say about that but he figures the lines are blurry enough that they can call it and not being challenged.

Not that any of that really matters anymore.

Except it does, doesn’t it? Because their people still need someone to guide them.

“He bears the mark of the Thirteenth Clan.” Echo states, her eyes shifting to his arm. The burn scar is covered by his sleeve but his other hand presses on it, unconsciously confirming her claim.

“Ambassador is fine in Polis.” he says, to cut the conversation short. He doesn’t particularly want to debate on titles and honorifics, first because he doesn’t really care and, second, because he really wants some peace and quiet.

“Chancellor.” Echo repeats carefully anyway, ignoring him. “Is that your word for commander?”

“In a way.” Abby offers tersely.

“But _Wanheda_ is in charge now.” the warrior retorts with a small disapproving frown. “What sort of commanders leave their second in charge to be ambassadors?”

 _The sort who knows he won’t be commander long_ , Marcus thinks.

“The good ones.” Abby replies, defensive.

It seems to amuse Echo more than it convinces her. She turns to Marcus, face set in stone, her gaze evaluating. “Yu don badan kru.”

_You have loyal people._

“Em praiz yu?” he asks. _Does that surprise you?_

He supposes Azgeda isn’t that used to showing loyalty to their authority figures. It is a large clan, possibly the largest, and everyone can’t be happy with their monarchs. He knows Echo was loyal to her queen,  maybe less to her king, but he thinks it’s the exception rather than the rule.

And, as if to confirm that impression, she dismisses the question by waving an impatient hand in Abby’s direction. “I will take you to your room.”

“Thank you but we don’t need two rooms.” she answers.

Marcus’ head turns so fast he feels something snap in his neck, not certain he heard her right. In the split second it takes him to find her gaze, he thinks maybe she wants to stay with him in case things go south – and he can’t fault her for that – but any thought of possible escape plans and damage control flies out the window when he meets her eyes.

This has nothing to do with things possibly going south with the Grounders.

There’s no question on her face. She’s not _asking_ him, she’s _telling_ him.

“I see.” Echo says and he thinks they revealed more than maybe is wise. “We provided clothes for you to borrow until the servants can wash yours. If you need anything, King Roan wants you to feel free to ask.”

He breathes a little easier when the girl finally leaves the room although the moment the doors are shut behind her he feels trapped. He turns toward Abby who has picked up something from the table in what he figures to be the living-room part of the room. It takes him a few minutes to realize it’s a leather bound notebook full of sketches.

He’s pretty sure this was Clarke’s room before it was theirs. The room Lexa intended for Skaikru’s ambassador.

Abby looks tired, worried and vulnerable.

“She will be alright.” he offers and, when she looks up at him, he nods to the notebook in her hands. “She’s your daughter, Abby. Through and through.”

He intends it as a compliment but the smile that graces her lips is wistful. “That’s what worries me. I always thought she had taken after Jake but…” She stops and shrugs, her hand absentmindedly coiling around the ring she carries on a chain. His eyes follow the move and there is suddenly an odd tension in the room, as if they just summoned a ghost. She clears her throat and lets go of the ring to study him. “How are you? And don’t say _fine_.”

If he has to list everything that hurts, he thinks they will still be standing there the next morning. He steps closer to her instead and, when he is within reach, he brushes the tips of his fingers against the bruises around her neck.

He doesn’t need to ask what happened. He _knows_ what happened. If anyone knew something in the COL, everyone knew. He knows what ALIE made her do, what Clarke didn’t sacrifice.

Maybe that’s in part why he put her in charge while he decided to stay behind, because leadership is paved with sacrifices he doesn’t want, _can’t_ , make anymore. He feels guilty about leaving that weight with her but he knows Bellamy will be there to ground her, just like Abby used to do for him.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head to the side as his touch become a bit firmer. He’s probing more than he’s touching now, making sure she’s fine.

“I would do it again.” he whispers quietly. He knows where her mind is gone. He doesn’t need a key or ALIE to know her thoughts. She’s blaming herself and he can’t let her go there because, if they go there, they will never climb out. “I don’t regret it.”

She searches his eyes for a moment and smiles, tension leaving her shoulders. She cups his cheek and pulls him down a little… He meets her lips without a moment of hesitation. When she deepens the kiss, his mind flashes back to his arrival in Polis, to that room and the things ALIE asked her to do to convince him, to _seduce_ him… It makes him mad that the AI manipulated them that way, exploited something that is still so new and fragile… So _precious_ to him…

“Marcus?” she asks against his mouth, uncertain.

He kisses her harder in reassurance, forgetting all about restrain or any half-cooked thought of maybe taking it slow. All that’s left is the adrenaline backlash of a near-death experience. His and hers alike.

Her fingers find his hair, tangle in it to better take control of the kiss… He gives her that much, slipping one of his hands under her shirt, the other one moving from the small of her back to…

The bandage catches on her belt and he breaks the kiss with a hiss. Cradling his wrist in his other hand is instinctive, his jaw clenches as he waits for the pain to pass but it won’t go away. He has been ignoring it for hours and now it’s back with a vengeance.

“Let me see.” she orders. There is no room for argument and no hope of distracting her now, she has her doctor stance. She ushers him toward the couch and fetches her medical bag. At the face she makes when she opens it, he knows they’re not as well stocked as she would have liked. She shots him an amused look while she washes her hands in a bronze bowl by the bed. “I hope you didn’t tear my stitches.”

The bed they will have to share unless he offers to be a gentleman and take the couch.

He doesn’t let himself think about the bed yet.

He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t fit on the couch anyway.

“I tried my best not to, does that count for something?” He flashes her a sheepish smile.

He knows that he popped out at least one of them but he doesn’t offer the information. The emergency stitches she put before they left the tower were done in a hurry, not her finest work but good enough to hold.

He lets her unwrap the bandages on his right hand, automatically flexing his fingers once it comes loose.

“Was it too tight?” she frowns, her fingers ghosting over the marks the gauze left on his skin. They shy away from the angry red wound and the black threads crisscrossing over it. “I don’t like the look of this one.” She finds an antiseptic balm in the bag and starts smearing it over his inner wrist. It smells strongly of wild herbs and it reminds him of the meadow not too far from Arkadia. At his questioning look, she smiles a little. “It’s one of Nyko’s remedies.” Her fingers linger even after there is no more balm to apply. “Marcus…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” he promises.

“We focus on what comes next?” she asks, maybe a bit bitterly. There’s _always_ something coming next and no time to come to terms with what is happening around them. It sometimes feels like it’s been that way since Jake’s death.

“We have to.” he reminds her, brushing her hair back with his free hand. She takes a deep breath and nods once. She grabs more bandages, compresses, and medical tape and proceeds to wrap half his arm in them. “Do you think there’s enough?” he jokes at some point.

He gets an aggravated look in answer.

“I know you.” she simply states.

And maybe he doesn’t have the best track record with not undoing her handiwork.

He’s about to call her out on it – because he’s _seen_ her refuse Jackson’s help earlier – when there’s a knock on the door. They exchange a look, suddenly tense.

“Come in.” he calls. Nothing happens and, after a second, he corrects himself. “Minop.”

The door is opened a crack and in slips a skittish young girl who gives a small bow.

“Yu sad op washin sok, bandrona?” she asks.

The words aren’t entirely familiar, aside for the ambassador one, and it takes him a moment to realize what she’s asking him.

“Do you want a bath?” he defers to Abby. Her whole face lights up at the prospect and he doesn’t even need a vocal answer. He can’t help but chuckle a little at her eagerness, although he supposes it would be good to get rid of all that grime. “Sha. Chof.”

The girl bows again and disappears, leaving the door open. She comes back before Abby is done wrapping his wrist up though, followed by more servants carrying buckets of hot water. He watches them while she takes care of his left hand, making sure to look suitably chastised when she lectures him about the stitch he has indeed popped out at some point today. He’s not a fan of needles so it gives him as good an excuse as any not to look as she redoes everything.

It’s only when the servants start lighting candles that he realizes the sun is setting. It’s later than he thought. He wonders if the kids made it back to Arkadia already or if they’re camping somewhere. He hopes they’re alright.

The girl from earlier keeps throwing them curious looks. She’s young but there’s no doubt she’s in charge. She commands the others, instructing them to place candles here and there, to make sure they have everything they would need…

Abby is starting to wrap his wrist in an impressive bandage when the girl wanders closer, her head bowed in deference. “Beda ai lid in dina, bandrona?”

 _Should I bring in dinner, ambassador_?

His stomach rumbles in answer. He can’t remember the last time he ate and he’s pretty sure the same goes for Abby. Food hasn’t been one of ALIE’s priorities.

“Sha. Mochof.” he accepts with a smile.

“Chit ste yu… tagon?” Abby asks before the girl can scurry away again.

Her Trigedasleng is still hesitant but Marcus can’t help but smile with pride. She’s having a difficult time learning and usually sticks to simple sentences. Like asking someone their name.

“Dalys, Skaiheda.” the servant offers.

“I’m not…” Abby frowns and then winces as she struggles to piece off a sentence. “Ai laik nou Skaiheda noumou.” _I’m not Skaikru’s leader anymore._ She glances at him and he confirms she got it right with a nod so she soldiers on. “Ai laik fisa.” _I am a healer._ She makes a face and shakes her head. “Can you ask her if I can take a look at her hand?”

He blinks, surprised by the request, before realizing that the girl has been keeping her right hand closed in a fist. He translates and Dalys offers her hand with obvious reluctance, probably only complying because he asked her too.

There isn’t a soul in Polis that haven’t suffered because of the COL. The burn on the girl’s hand looks bad but not as bad as other things he saw in the streets earlier. He leaves Abby to treat it, wandering around the room. The servants are done with the candles and the bath but the water is smoking and there’s no putting a toe in there without ending up boiled.

He gravitates back to the couch and the table when the food has been brought. It’s nothing outlandish, cold meat and some fruits… It looks so tempting to him but he forces himself to wait until Abby is done and sends the servant girl on her way before filling two plates. They start eating well before the door swings shut once more and they’re left alone.

They’re both too starved to talk. They swallow down the food as if they haven’t been used to being on ration all their lives and he _really_ can’t remember the last time he ate. Before Polis? Before capturing Pike? Before…

It’s a little embarrassing how clean the plates are when they finally put them down.

They share a small awkward smile and Abby stands up to go check the still steaming tub. He can’t really see her from the couch, the ‘bathroom’ area is tucked away in a corner near the bed. His fingers drum on the armrest and he wonders if she will take it personally if he takes a nap while she washes up because…

His train of thoughts die when she comes back in his line of sight, jacket and shirt gone. She’s only wearing a black tank top over her pants now and not only it doesn’t cover much but it is very obvious she has no bra underneath. She found a hairbrush somewhere and she’s trying to untangle her hair.

“Are you staying over there?” she asks, her lips quirked up. It’s almost a challenge and he has never been good at ignoring her challenges.

He doesn’t quite know what they’re doing. If they’re going _there_ tonight, if it’s clever, if it’s too soon… Those are all valid questions he should be asking, they have only kissed twice after all if they don’t count the ALIE act. He simply follows her lead instead. Like most of the time. 

He pushes himself to his feet, something that is more difficult than it ought to be because he feels like he has just climbed up a giant tower with his bare hands – and _oh wait…_ – and joins her in the other part of the room. The mood is entirely different here, it’s cozier. The candles make it… intimate. And the steam rising from the tub…

He swallows hard. He should be too tired to entertain any wicked thoughts but the thoughts are here all the same. They can’t _not_ be here when she’s toeing off her boots and unbuckling her belt as if it’s something they do every day – and he finds he _desperately_ wants them to do that every day.

He watches her pants flop around her ankles in a daze. He watches her foot step out of them and kicking them to the side where, he realizes, her jacket and shirt lay in a heap. And then he watches her foot come closer to him. Only then does he let his eyes roam up her shins, up her thighs… They stop briefly on the simple black cotton panties she has on and up they go again, lingering on the stretch of skin between the band of her underwear and the hem of her tank top… He studies the shape of her belly button as if it holds the answers to all the questions in the universe… His gaze has made it all the way to the nipples visibly peaking under the fabric when she pushes his jacket off his shoulders.

She’s gentle when she slips it off his forearms and he looks up, seized with anger and dread when he spots just how bad the bruising around her throat looks like. He leans in when she tosses his jacket with the rest of her clothes, brushing a soft kiss against the abused skin, careful not to put too much pressure on it. Her hand immediately shoots to cradle the back of his head and he doesn’t know what arouses him more: the quiet sound his beard makes as it rasps against her flesh or her small gasp that can’t be mistaken for anything but pleasure.

He lets his mouth trail down the curve of her neck to her shoulder.

His shirt is bundled in her fist halfway to his side and he returns the favor by pushing hers up her back. He feels the scars under his palms and it makes him falter briefly. He lets out a slow breath against his skin, unable to accept what would have happened if…

“What comes next.” she reminds him and he nods slowly. He knows. He _knows_ but… “What comes next _shouldn’t_ be so terrible…” she jokes and he chuckles.

Just like that, the bad memories fade and he gets back to exploring her skin with his mouth, his hand spread flat between her shoulder blades. It makes her shirt inch up and he’s fascinated with the amount of flesh it reveals. He entertains the thought of dropping to his knees, of nuzzling her stomach, of trying and venturing where the shirt is temptingly bundled under her breasts…

She forces his shirt off before he can act on it and, suddenly, she’s _right there_ , in his space, hands and mouth roaming on his chest. He wraps his arms around her, hugging her close. Her caresses become less purposeful and she rests her cheek against his shoulder, her palm still running up and down his arm slowly.

It’s like the eye of the storm.

He’s pretty sure she can feel him against her stomach. It’s half the reason why he calmed things down, because he wants her to be sure, to be…

She drops a kiss on his skin and sneaks her hands between them. He doesn’t know if it’s the adrenaline but the sound of his belt being unbuckled seems unnaturally _loud_. She pops the button open and the zipper down and nudges his trousers down before planting a kiss on his lips and walking away.

It’s cold without her body pressed close to his and he doesn’t like it.

He wants to ask what’s in her mind but the question dies on his tongue when she passes her tank top over her head and flicks it in the vague direction of the heap of dirty clothes. He can only watch. He can only watch as the panties follow the same path. He can only watch as she carefully places the chain with her ring on the table by the bed and as she reaches for the cloth in the washing basin. He can only watch as she runs it over her neck and down her arms, scraping at the dried blood, the soot and the grime.

The bathtub is still steaming but it should have been alright to step in now.

He doesn’t tell her.

He can’t, not when the sight is so riveting.

The moment she runs the cloth over her breast, he knows they just passed the point of no return.

He’s painfully constricted in his underwear so he crouches down to unlace his boots, never taking his eyes off her. He wants to follow the cloth’s path with his mouth. He does a quick job of getting naked, particularly when her hand disappears between her legs.

He’s right behind her in a flash, his hand covering hers, rubbing the cloth just where… Her head falls back on his shoulder, her breath catching in her throat. He could get addicted to those sounds very quickly, he decides, letting his other hand run over her ribcage and all the way to her breast.

“Marcus…” she whispers when he circles her nipple.

He’s frustrated by the barrier of cloth between his fingers and her so he tries to nudge it away but she seems to come back to herself and turns around in his arms.

“Abby.” It’s almost a whine but he doesn’t care. He wants her. He _needs_ her. There would be time for games later, time for…

“Soon.” she promises. She runs the cloth on his neck, on his shoulders and down his arms. She’s trying her best to be efficient, he can tell, but she can’t stop herself from _touching_ any more than he can. She’s bent on cleaning them up and a part of him understands why, they smell and taste like blood and death, but it’s not the part who’s in control right now. His brain isn’t doing the thinking right at this moment.

He doesn’t stand still while she washes him, his palms roam on her back, on her ass… They’re relentless in their exploration and his fingers clench against her flesh when she brings the cloth to his inner thigh, when she playfully wraps it around his length and…

“Abby.” he growls. He’s throbbing already and he doesn’t think he will last long if she plays that game. It’s not her hand he wants.

He kisses her because it’s the only logical thing to do, the only thing he _can_ do. The bed is right there but they end up against the wall instead. He snatches the cloth from her hand while she’s distracted by his mouth and tosses it away. They’re clean enough, he decides. It might have been better to wait after the bath but he can’t quite care.

He bends the knees a little, still kissing her, and runs his palms under her thighs. He doesn’t give her a warning before lifting her up. Pain flares in his wrists and he groans but he doesn’t let a small thing like that deter him. Her hand wraps around him again, _tortures_ him with bliss… He bows his head to let his lips run on her collarbone, to her breasts…

He pins her against the wall with his hips to free one of his hands, to bring it between their bodies… The second he touches her she drops her forehead on his shoulder, short of breath. It soon turns to panting as they find a rhythm to their strokes…

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore and he takes his hand away. She lifts her head from his shoulder, he brushes her hair back, drawing her in for another kiss… He doesn’t need to tell her what he wants. He puts his hand back under her thighs to better support her as she guides him inside her…

He’s careful at first, too painfully aware of exactly how long it must have been for her. But the sounds she makes with every new inch delights him too much and he can’t really control the buckling of his hips. Her fingers dig in the back of his neck when he buries himself in her.

He wants to ask if she’s alright but the growl that escapes her throat is almost feral.

“Move.” she commands and then soothes her harness with a mind-blowing kiss. “Please…”

He doesn’t really need more than that to grant her request. He thinks he’s drunk on the little noises she makes when she gets close but it’s nothing to what he feels when she actually climaxes with his name on her lips.

That’s his undoing.

He reaches his release with a cry of her name.

For a moment, they bathe in the afterglow and everything is _perfect_ , calm, _peaceful_. Then he starts coming back into his body and he can’t quite help a wince. She must glimpse it because she immediately unhooks her legs and places her feet down.

“Do I have to stitch you up again?” she chuckles.

“Entirely worth it.” he shrugs with a smile.

He flexes his wrists a few times until she grabs his hands and turns them palms up. She studies the bandages attentively but when no stain of blood shows up she trails her fingers to his elbows and steps into the space between his arms, looking up at him with a smile, eyes twinkling in mischief.

“We are doing it again.” she declares.

“As you know, I never argue with my doctor.” he lies, which warrants him a small playful whack on the shoulder. He embraces her, resting his chin on the side of her head. “I love you.”

He doesn’t let himself think about it or make it a big thing. Compared to everything they’ve been through… It’s not scary to say and it’s not scary to think.

It’s _easy_ even.

The easiest thing he has ever done.

The smile that immediately stretches her lips is bright if a little wistful. He knows what she’s thinking about. Six months. Six months isn’t long enough. Six months is…

“We will have to make the most of it.” he shrugs before she can say anything.

Her face softens, probably because of this gift of his to always know what she’s worrying about. She cups his cheek, her thumb tracing random paths in his beard.

“I love you.” she confesses, just as easily as he had. As if they have been saying it for years instead of for the first time. The kiss is gentler than the others they’ve shared today but it soon turns heated again. “Bath.” she mumbles against his mouth, carefully guiding him backward.

He lets out a disappointed groan but he knows she’s right so he doesn’t fight her on it. He’s the first to step in the bathtub and the warm water wrapping around his calves in an immediate relief to his aching muscles. He sinks in the bath with a content sigh.

“Keep your arms out.” she warns. “I made the bandages as waterproof as I could but I don’t want the wounds to get wet.”

He obediently rests his arms on either side of the tub and spreads his legs as wide as he can to make space for her. “Get in.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. She settles between his legs, her back against his chest, with a blissful sigh of her own.

It’s frustrating, not being able to wrap his arms around her as she snuggles against him, or not being able to help her wash her hair – something he will _definitely_ do at some point, he decides – but the safe bubble they’re in compensates for it.

He drifts off while she rinses the shampoo off her hair and only wakes up _way_ later, when there are only a handful of candles left burning and the water is cold around them. Abby is curled up against his chest and he can’t help a smile even as he nudges her awake.

He can get used to this.

Even if it’s only for six months…

It makes it all worth it.


	39. The Eye Of The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short missing scene from DNR because I was missing that kabby reunion ;) Thanks to Akachankami for the beta!

The cell smelt like mold, sweat and clotted blood.

Abby wished she hadn’t gotten as used to it as she had but, when Azgeda’s warriors pushed them in Polis holding cells, the smell that would have repulsed her once upon a time now felt familiar. The others were arguing. Well… _Clarke and Marcus_ were arguing and the moment the guards left them to themselves, the volume of that fight increased.

She caught words like _“shouldn’t have”_ , “ _Roan_ ”, “ _behind my back”_ , “ _Chancellor_ ”, “ _right”_ and _“survive”_. She didn’t try to cut in. She had known from the start Clarke would have been furious with their choice, had warned Marcus when he had exposed his plan to her over the radio but hadn’t gone out of her way to talk him out of it either.

She was tired.

Extremely tired.

She sought the furthest corner and sank down on the dirty dusty floor, her back to the bars, her tied hands propped on her knees.

She stared at the ropes around her wrists, tried her hardest not to remember John’s damaged skin after Raven had cut his bounds… He had refused her help. For hours, he had refused her help. Until she had lost it and destroyed the radiation chamber. The accusation in his eyes…

It was one thing to experiment on a random man, easier to reason with herself and compartmentalize somehow, but _purposefully_ putting someone she had grown to know and like in danger? No… That had been too much. Even if the human race as a whole had been at stake.

She wasn’t sure what kind of woman that made her.

A headache was throbbing behind her left eye. She couldn’t really tell if it was just blood pressure or if her brain was starting to deteriorate the same way Raven’s was. If…

“Hey.” Marcus said softly, sitting down next to her. Clarke, she noticed, had chosen the opposite side of the cell and was making it very clear she wasn’t talking to them yet. Exactly like the sulking teenager she wasn’t anymore.

“Hey.” she replied, weariness creeping in her voice. She was glad to see him, more than she could have been able to express at that very instant. Something had uncoiled in her the moment she had caught his eyes over what had quickly become a battlefield. Despite the danger… She felt safer, _stronger_ … “I thought we agreed there would be no more kidnapping or being held hostage?”

She nodded to his bound hands with a small smile that wasn’t entirely genuine.

He chuckled and it did _things_ to her, that sound… It took her back to better days, flesh flushed tight together, his nose bumping her neck, his rich voice in her ear… What she wouldn’t have given to go back to those too short days of bliss…

If they really didn’t make it to that bunker, if they failed their people and were forced to accept the inevitable – although she couldn’t see _that_ happening because that wasn’t _who they were_ , they would fight to the last second, fight until the fire came and devoured them all – it was how she wanted to go: with him buried deep inside her, his sweet whispers promising everything would be fine, his presence engulfing her in a safe warmth…

“Are you okay?”

Her mind had drifted away like it tended to do lately. It could be sleep deprivation. It could be her brain.

He was frowning a little, studying her with concern and far too much perceptiveness.

She had told him about Raven. She supposed he had connected the dots himself.

“Yes.” she promised and meant it. She _was_ alright. For now. She had only hallucinated once. Her symptoms weren’t as obvious or as fast as Raven’s… Brains were mysterious things. Maybe… She chased that out of her mind and rested her head on his shoulder, leaning into the warmth of his side. “I’m happy to see you. I missed you.”

She was aware they weren’t alone and that the others were doing their best to give them a semblance of privacy, pretending they couldn’t hear her low words even if the cell was far too small for that not to be the case. She didn’t mind really. Each of them had walked on enough late night radio conversations to figure out what was going on between them.

“I missed you too.” he offered quietly, carefully resting his cheek on the top of her head. She closed her eyes, thought that maybe she could sleep for a little while… They might need to escape later or to fight or… Being rested might do her good…

His bound hands found hers and she awkwardly clasped his fingers as best as she could.

She had to believe there would be time for a proper reunion later, once they’d be free – once someone had rescued them or they had managed to negotiate for their release by themselves. With kisses that never ended and hands that wandered.

But this, this right now, was the eye of the storm.

And, huddled against his side like she was, she could almost believe they would be able to survive it when it finally hit. 

 


	40. Chosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAD to, okay? So here’s wishful thinking of what I would like to see next time :p Thanks to akachankami for the beta!

Her eyelids slowly flutter open. There is a bad taste in her mouth and her body feels heavy. Something is wrong and, for a second, a terrible terrifying second, she’s unable to say what. She first thinks of damaged brains, seizures and strokes. Then her doctor training kicks in and she recognizes the symptoms for what they are. _Drugs._

She remembers the sudden fog, remembers reaching for Jackson, remembers…

She’s lying on a couch but not the one she’s woken up on a hundred times before. This one is smaller and smells like dust and stale air. She can hear noises, the faint buzzing of people talking, walking, _living,_ in the distance, behind walls and closed doors… The echoing noises of life in a sealed off space and, for another second, she pricks up her ears and listens for the familiar hum of the Ark’s engines.

She hopes against all odds this is just a dream.

She knows better.

The office is just as she has left it earlier, down to the brooding Chancellor standing in front of the desk. Marcus isn’t doing anything. He is just standing there as if he forgot what he was about to do. He’s staring into space. Too calm. Too sad. Too guilty.

She doesn't need to look for a clock, doesn’t need to make sure, because… She knows him too well. She looks at him and it’s the Culling all over again. That weight on his shoulders making him look that little bit smaller, that weight crushing him down and pushing him to extremes just so he could find his salvation.

_You saved me._

That’s what she does, isn’t it? Save people. Fix people.

Or it used to be, at least.

He knows she’s awake just like she knows what he’s done.

But as long as she’s not moving they can pretend, remain in that limbo of not-knowing. It can last forever, really. Him staring at the wooden desk and her watching him. Forever frozen in a suspended breath.

She waits. She waits because she’s tired and she made her point clear and he had _no right_ to take the decision away from her. She waits because she doesn’t really want to know what happened. She waits because she’s not ready to learn who didn’t make the cut.

He still doesn’t move. _Coward_ , she wants to shout and it’s not her, not really, it’s the old Abby, the one from the Ark, the one who refused to compromise when it comes to human lives… _Staying alive… Deserving to survive…_ They keep stumbling upon those two concepts as if it even makes sense, as if they have any right to call the shots… As if…

She sits up slowly.

Her legs first. Her feet touch the floor with a soft _thud._ She uses the back of the couch to prop herself upright.

“Clarke is safe.” he says without glancing at her. “She’s… She’s not _here_ but… She's alive.”

She decides she’s in shock because the news just ripples and slides off her. _Of course_ , Clarke isn’t here. She played at being a Mountain Man and that’s her punishment: being estranged from Clarke again.

_Five years is a long time to be estranged,_ a voice whispers.

_I probably won’t be alive in five years,_ another answers.

She ignores them both, forces herself to forget her nightmarish vision of Clarke…

“What happened?” she asks.

“Their rover broke.” he explains, still staring at the desk. “They have a plan. You won’t like it but…”

“What happened?” she interrupts. She will ask about Clarke later. She is alive and that will have to do for now.

Marcus lets out a deep sigh and finally turns to her. And here it is, the pain in his eyes, the weight making his shoulders slouch, the souls of hundred of people crushing him down. “They were going to fight the Grounders. It would have been a slaughter. Jaha and I used gas to knock everyone out.” He licks his lips, averts his eyes. “They were probably still asleep when…”

He adds it as an afterthought, a small mercy, but he cannot even finish his own sentence.

“When the death wave hit.” she supplies slowly, brushing her hair back to rub her face. “I slept through the end of the world.”

“Not the end.” he corrects in a whisper.

“Not for _us_ maybe.” she snaps and immediately regrets it.

“It was the best way to save them.” he almost pleads. “The _only_ way.” They already had that argument, she wants to point out, a hundred years ago. “Abby…”

“I know.” she says because she _does_. She understands. There is no good solution and _they_ are not good guys. They cannot be. Not when they are the ones who _choose._ “Why am I here?”

And that’s the real issue, the one he has so obviously been dreading to address.

He has the nerves to look unapologetic as he crosses his arms in front of him, forcing her to look up at him instead of taking a seat to level out the height difference, looking every bit like _Chancellor Kane_ and nothing like _Marcus._

“We used Clarke’s list.” he states. “Your name was there.”

She studies him and then shakes her head, refuses to think about who might not have been on that list. “I told you what I wanted. I told you…”

“And I told you _no.”_ he cuts her off.

She doesn't even try to curb her anger before it brings her to her feet. There has been salvation to be found in leaving her spot to someone else and he has robbed her of it. He has robbed her of her chance to right her wrongs, to save lives instead of…

“Who do you think you are to tell me what to do with my life?” she hisses. “Who do you think…”

“I’m the man who loves you.” he spits right back, striding toward her with some anger of his own - or maybe it’s just pain, it’s hard to say.  He grips her shoulders tight, tight enough to bruise. “I’m the man you love. _That’s_ who I am. And you don’t get to quit on me, Abby. We do this together.”

“You don’t understand.” she accuses. “The things I did… The people I sentenced to death just because…” Because of _him._ She didn’t open the doors because it was the right thing to do, she opened them because he was out there and she was done watching the man she loves agonizing on the other side of an airlock. Her motives were selfish. Purely selfish. And there must be a price to pay for them. There must be… “We have to answer for our sins. We…”

He tugs her into a brutal hug before she can finish her sentence. His left arm sneaks around her waist, his right hand cradles the back of her head and it’s all she can do to cling back, melt in his embrace and wonder if salvation feels as good as this…

“Not like this.” It is a harsh whisper in her ear. “That’s not the way to redemption, Abby.”

“Someone else could have lived.” she argues.

“Two of them could have lived.” he counters against her hair. “I told you. _Together_. Together or not at all.”

He would have come with her. He would have walked through that door into fire with her… _Of course_ he would have.

“But they need you.” she protests, drawing back to glare at him.

“Exactly.” he shrugs. The tears in his eyes tell her it would have been much easier for him too if staying outside the bunker had been an option. “They need me. And I need you. And maybe… _Maybe_ that's _how_ we make sure we deserve to survive. We acknowledge the sacrifices. We never forget. We come together. We find the way out of the dark.”

She cups his cheek, closes her eyes and leans in again. He bows until their foreheads are pressed together.

It reminds her of another time. A time he begged her to let him go to his death and she refused.

They’ve never been really good at letting the other sacrifice themselves.

“I’m out of hope.” she confesses softly.

He presses his lips against her brow in a long peck. His beard is soft against her skin and she _aches_ for him because she loves him _too much_ and she’s not sure they can afford it, she’s not sure they should when they’re responsible for taking decisions that kill a lot and save a few.

She can sacrifice a lot but not _him._ Never _him._

And that quiet certainty pulsing under her skin makes her think about Jake and the guilt just keeps on piling…

“Salvation comes at a price, Abby.” he reminds her, bumping his nose against hers, brushing his lips against her mouth. “It will get better. We need to have _faith_.”

“Do you have faith?” she asks in this kiss that isn’t really a kiss. He used not to. She remembers him scoffing at his mother and dismissing the tree. She remembers his disappointment after Pike was elected. She remembers the dark moments after ALIE.

“I have faith in our people. In humanity.” he whispers. “I have faith in _us.”_

_“_ I love you.” she answers.

And she’s not young or naive enough to believe it’s everything but maybe it’s a start.

Maybe that’s where hope lies.

In the belief that there’s something worth living for.


	41. Doomed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends, I have come back from the war! I am full of The 100 feels lately so you get the fruits of a very cracky talk I had with Akachankami regarding jealousy and Jaha. This is taking place post S4 in the bunker, it’s mostly a mix of fluff and crack so… don’t take it too seriously!

Marcus was laughing so hard tears were pooling in his eyes.

He had been laughing for almost ten minutes straight by that point and Abby was starting to get concerned about possible strokes. It was hard to blame him for it though. She had had troubles controlling her own chuckles when she had told him the story the first time and, if she had been shaking her head at him all the while when she had repeated it for the second time, her lips had still been twitching with the smile she was fighting.

“Tell me again.” he demanded between two gasps of breath. “What did he say?”

“That I shouldn’t feel bad that our relationship didn’t work out because it was doomed from the start.” she said, her amusement clouded with a touch of irritation. If it hadn’t been so ridiculous, she   might have been angrier with Jaha.

“ _Doomed_.” Marcus chuckled, wiping his eyes.

She wasn’t even surprised when he flopped on his back on their bed and covered his face with his hands, lost to his hilarity.

She perched herself on the table that doubled as a desk, careful not to disturb the files and papers they both left lying around, and folded her arms across her chest, watching him with her head tilted to the side. It was good to see him like that, she decided, and, to be honest, it was good to laugh so much. In the three months since the bunker doors had closed, there hadn’t been a lot of fun to have around – which might explain why they were both finding the situation so hysterical, it was _nerves_.

Still…

Jaha making an ass of himself _was_ amusing.

“I can’t believe he _finally_ made a move on you.” Marcus insisted, calming down enough to lift his head and look at her. “Do you know how long he’s been staring at you when he thinks nobody’s watching him? It used to creep me out.”

“And now?” she challenged.

A soft smile stretched his lips and he gave her a tiny shrug. “Now you’re with me so I just feel sorry for him.”

He wasn’t even jealous and she didn’t know if she was pleased or annoyed by that. Pleased, she supposed, because he had no reason to be and she would have hated it if he had made a scene about something she hadn’t even asked for in the first place. Annoyed because… Well, it was good to be desired, probably.

“Don’t be so confident.” she teased. “Apparently, we’re _doomed_.”

The word, so ridiculous to apply to their relationship given _everything_ their people had been through, sent him back into guffaws and she shook her head at him, no longer fighting her own smile, watching his chest spasm on that bed with every new round of laughter.

“You know, I should really be mad at him…” he said after a few seconds, his voice still unsteady from all the laughing. “What kind of man tries to steal his friend’s partner right after they broke up?”

“We _didn’t_ break up.” she reminded him. “We just had a fight in front of the whole bunker for the fifth time in a week.”

Making sure the bunker had a system that would work for five years and keeping to it was complicated. In a lot of ways, it felt like being back on the Ark and the limitation on the amount of meds doctors and healers were allowed to give to one person was part of the new regulations they were trying to implement.

She had been fighting him tooth and nails about those numbers and it had resulted in several explosive arguments, two of which had been in the dining hall, two in the corridors and, finally, that morning, right in front of the main office – Octavia’s office – on the metal walkway that overlooked the gathering room.

He had been right and she had known it, which had only infuriated her even more so she had eventually stormed off after calling him a jerk – _shouting_ at him that he was a jerk, really – and swearing for everyone to hear that she was done with him – _like old times_ , as Jackson had teased later on in Medical. What she had meant, though, was that she was done _talking to him about it_ , not that she was done with _him_.

They tried – and often failed – to keep the bunker’s problems outside of their room, to make the distinction between _Chancellor/Octavia’s advisor and Head of Medical_ and _Marcus and Abby_. They might be on opposite sides of policies again out there but they were very much on the same page when it came to their relationship.

Her words and the numerous arguments must have been misinterpreted though because, later that day, she had found herself cornered in the stockroom where she had been making another quick inventory – just to make sure one last time she couldn’t pull the numbers Marcus demanded to be convinced. Jaha had always been a sort of mentor when it came to politics, she had respected him as a Chancellor, and he had always been a close family friend. Did she have a hint that he had some interest in her? Yes. Was she ready for him to offer himself as a shoulder to cry on about her break up with Marcus? Not really. Especially when he had suggested maybe _they_ could try something before she could set the record straight. That was Thelonious’ problem. He talked, certain he was right, and rarely paused to listen.

“We had a _disagreement_.” he corrected.

“I called you a jerk. I’m pretty sure that qualifies as a fight.” she snorted.

“You called me a jerk across the Council’s table a dozen times and I always called that disagreements.” he pointed out, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“How politically correct of you.” she deadpanned, amused despite herself.

He grinned and outstretched a hand in an invitation she was only too happy to accept. It had been a long day and, as far as she was concerned, nights were the best part of her everyday life. At least when she didn’t have a shift and Marcus wasn’t working on something or other.

She straddled his hips and leaned in for a kiss, smiling against his lips when he brushed her braided hair back behind her shoulder.

“ _Doomed_.” he whispered ominously and started laughing again.

She rolled her eyes, whacking his shoulder.

“We _are_ going to be doomed if you don’t focus on me right now.” she warned. “Maybe I _should_ have a date with Jaha after all…”

She yelped in surprise before bursting into laughter when he suddenly flipped them over, just as happy to be trapped under his strong body as she had been to straddle it.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” he joked, his lips retracing the line of her jaw.

“Maybe.” she admitted in the middle of chuckles because his beard was tickling her.

She ran her fingers in his hair with a soft sigh, giving herself completely to what his mouth was doing on her neck. Really, she didn’t know how Jaha could be _confused_ about what was going on between the two of them when she had been walking around with a hickey on the collarbone regularly poking out of her shirt when she moved. 

“I’m not.” he breathed out, slipping his hand under her shirt, prompting her to arch her back to push her breast into his hand. “I trust you. I trust _us_.” He drew back long enough to slip his own shirt over his head, mirth dancing in his eye. “Doomed as we are.”

She couldn’t help herself. She laughed again, remembering the exact _know-it-all_ tone in which Thelonious had said that, and distractedly ran her palm over the familiar planes of his torso.

“ _Doomed as we are_ , I would still pick you.” she promised.

“Which is why I’m not really jealous of a guy who thinks we’re breaking up because you called me a jerk.” he snorted. “As if you never called me worse in front of him.”

“Well…” she drawled out innocently. “I believe that when you’re behaving like an ass, someone should let you know, Chancellor Kane.”

“I see. You’re only doing your civic duty.” he mocked.

“Exactly.” she grinned, unbuckling his belt. “I _did_ vote for you after all.”

“I should make sure you’re satisfied, then.” he teased, his own fingers fumbling with her pants. “It’s important for me to satisfy my people, you know.”

Laughter boomed again when he pulled them off her in one swift move that would have been more impressive if he had remembered to take her boots off first.

_Doomed_ indeed.

But in the best sweetest way.


	42. What A Chancellor Can Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of crack with some fluff and steam for good measure ;) This is set between S2 and S3. Thanks to akachankami for the beta!

“Take off your clothes.” Abby demanded, making sure the war room door was closed. She heard Marcus’ sharp intake of breath behind her and she turned, a frown on her face. “What?”

His dark eyes stared back at her, unreadable. He licked his lips and averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck, a light blush on his cheeks. “Nothing.” The flush concerned her more than his clearly embarrassed behavior. “Look, Abby, I’m fine…”

She glared. “Did you or did you _not_ fall down a ravine?”

He _did_ look the part, in any case. There were leaves tangled in his hair, there were patches of dirt on his face, his hands and his neck were scratched, and his clothes were torn in some places…

It was Bellamy who had told her because, _of course_ , fool that he was, Marcus had come back from the recon mission and had headed straight to the war room to update the map instead of stopping in Medical where he ought to be.

“Nothing that glorious. It was more of _a ditch_.” he joked, his lips stretching into a small smile.

She didn’t smile back. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Are you limping?”

She had seen it. He had tried to hide it as soon as she had stormed into the war room, demanding to know why he hadn’t come to find her immediately if he was hurt but she had _seen_ it. He could downplay it all he wanted, she had been a doctor long enough to know the signs of a sprain when she saw it.

“It’s nothing.” he insisted. “I twisted my knee. I’ll stay off it and…”

“I will be the judge of that.” she declared, placing her hands on her hips in a commanding attitude. “Take off your clothes now.”

“Abby.” he protested, some annoyance in his voice.

“It’s an _order_ , Commander Kane.” she snapped. “Take off your clothes _now_.”

Again, he froze and stared at her with that unreadable gaze… His pupils were blown and she wondered if he had hit his head at some point, if he had a concussion, if…

“I’m not sure you’re really allowed to order _that_ , you know.” he pointed out, finally unzipping his guard jacket and tossing it on the chair behind the desk.

The shirt was next and she cleared her throat while he pulled it off because she had been a little focused on _making sure he was alright_ but now she was starting to understand why he was so reluctant. The moment he started slipping the shirt off, she felt _the tension_ that had been simmering between them for weeks rising up another notch.

She should have dragged him back to Medical. Medical was neutral ground. Medical would have been a doctor examining her patient...

The war room…

The war room was anything but neutral. The war room was _theirs:_ their mug waiting side by side on the desk, the blanket he had brought from his room to leave on the couch for when one of them fell asleep there, the drawings Clarke had left and she had propped here and there to brighten the room, the flowers he picked outside sometimes, the book she had started and never finished because of the pile of reports they shared every evening…

The war room was intimate and _theirs_ and…

Any wayward thought disappeared when she caught sight of his torso though. She went back in doctor mode really fast. Her hands were on him before he even had time to toss the shirt on top of the jacket and he hissed – more because of the impressive bruises that were beginning to form than because of her fingers on his skin, she supposed.

She probed and poked until she was satisfied he had no cracked ribs but the way he was subtly shuffling his weight on his left leg didn’t escape her and she eventually, nudged him toward the couch.

He didn’t protest and seemed actually relieved to be able to sit down.

“How did it happen?” she asked, to keep him distracted while she flashed her small flashlight in his eyes to check he didn’t have a concussion.

“You’re going to laugh at me.” he grumbled.

“Probably.” she hummed with a small smile, briefly trailing her hand down his neck and his shoulder to keep herself steady. His eyes snapped up to her and, there it was again: _the tension_. It was a little hard for her not to notice how firm the muscles were under her palm. She knew he was strong – of course, she knew, she was his doctor, she had seen him undressed before – but it was a totally different context now and… She cleared her throat. “I need you to take off your pants now.”

“Be honest, how long have you been waiting to ask me that?” he joked, probably trying to lighten the mood.

“A while.” she answered seriously before she could stop herself.

His hands froze on the buckle of his belt and he swallowed hard but he went on without comment, propping himself on his good leg to lift his hips and push them down. She crouched down to inspect the knee and slip the fabric down to his ankles and it was probably the most awkward she had ever felt with Marcus in her whole life.

She kept her features schooled, reminded herself she was a _doctor_ – not to mention _the Chancellor –_ and not a schoolgirl on her first serious date, and focused on the badly bruised knee.

“You said you twisted it… Did you feel something snap?” she asked, manipulating it as gently as she could.

“No. Honestly, Abby… It’s just a small sprain. It’s fine.” he persisted.

She dismissed his protests. “How did you twist it?”

He sighed and let his head drop against the back of the couch with a small thud.

“There was a fawn.” he said slowly.

“A fawn?” she frowned, looking up at him.

He was carefully _not_ looking at her, his eyes straight on the ceiling and making an obvious effort to keep his breathing deep and regular. She supposed that, hurt or not, the sight of her crouching between his knees was bringing up thoughts that could be embarrassing given the fact that he was in his underwear.

It amused her more than was probably appropriate.

And she couldn’t help but steal a few glances between his legs. It was _right there_ , not quite staring at her in the face but very obviously _yearning_ to.

“It came out of nowhere, it surprised me, I stepped back… There was a root… The ditch was right there… Do you really need me to tell you the sad tale of how a baby deer got the best of me?” He chuckled suddenly. “It wasn’t my proudest moment.”

The idea of _Marcus Kane_ being frightened by a fawn was far too amusing and she did her best but eventually she couldn’t help her laughter. It didn’t seem to hurt his feelings because he laughed too.

She shook her head. “You were right to be frightened because that fawn did a number on your knee. I don’t think it’s too serious. Lie down on the couch, I will get you an ice pack.”

“I have to go check with Miller about…” he started to argue.

“If Miller has something to report, he will find you.” she retorted, attacking the shoelaces of his boots. “You’re getting some rest. Doctor’s orders.”

“It’s funny how my doctor seems to want to get me naked.” he teased, bending down to take care of his other shoe.

She got rid of the boot and tugged on the pants’ leg before he could think about pulling it back on. Two could play that game after all.

“Maybe your doctor likes the view.” she shrugged, fighting a smile.

“Maybe my doctor should realize she’s playing with fire.” he warned, a little more seriously than before.

“Not in the state you’re in, no.” she denied, batting his hands away because being bent in two was doing no good to the bruises on his chest. She was only satisfied once he was in his underwear. She gave his shoulder a light push. “Lie down.”

He did, his eyes tracking her every move. 

Fetching an ice pack didn’t take long but she was out of the room for long enough that he had hopped from the couch to the desk and back. If he thought she wouldn’t notice the suspicious amount of reports that had _magically_ moved to where he could grab them, she was wrong.

She sat on the edge of the couch and wrapped the ice pack around his knee without warning as punishment, making him hiss. He wasn’t unaware of why he was getting the rough treatment and his pout really shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was.

The scar on his thigh was glaringly obvious and she retraced it with her fingertips before she could stop herself, all flirtatious thoughts fading when she was reminded how close she had come to lose him so many times. There was another scar on his inner wrist that had almost proved itself fatal. He had a stupid tendency to try and die on her.

“I’m okay, Abby.” he said quietly, covering her hand with his.

“You should be more careful.” she whispered. “Didn’t I _order_ you to be more careful?”

She had. She knew she had.

He let go of her hand to gently brush her loose hair behind her shoulder. “I tripped.”

“Down a ravine.” she snorted.

“ _A ditch_.” he corrected.

“Not according to Bellamy.” she countered.

“Bellamy made it bigger than it was.” he promised.

She was more inclined to trust the boy than her fellow councilman who would hide the truth from her not to worry her.

“Do me a favor and stay clear of deer from now on.” she sighed. She grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and tossed it on him to keep him warm, a little sad to lose the nice view of his practically naked body. Then she fetched her medical bag and started the boring but necessary process of cleaning the scratches on his hands and neck. They were superficial wounds but you never knew. “You’re my worst patient, by the way. You _always_ make me chase you all over the place and you’re back every five days.”

“Maybe I just like when you take care of me.” he challenged with some amusement.

“Maybe you would like it better if you weren’t hurt when I do.” she retorted. “Think about _that_ next time.”

“But then you won’t have an excuse to order me to strip down…” he pointed out seriously, even though the smile tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed him.

“I’m sure I will think of something.” she replied just as seriously.

He smiled, eyes twinkling, reaching out for her hair again. “I’m looking forward to that.”

He was playing with her hair distractedly but his gaze was riveted to hers, warm and tender and… She wasn’t sure when exactly his fingers left her hair to cup her cheek. She wasn’t sure if he pulled her or if she just leaned in or if it was more of a combination of the two… All she knew was that she wanted to kiss him, had wanted to kiss him for some time now, and that she _was_ going to kiss him.

At least that had been the plan until the door was rudely opened without any warning.

She straightened quickly and Marcus’ hand dropped from her face but too late for Bellamy not to see.

“Sorry.” the young man winced. “I wanted to see if Kane was alright and Jackson was looking for you, Abby… I didn’t mean to… interrupt.”

There was a hint of amusement in Bellamy’s voice that would probably mean hours of teasing from all the kids.

“Maybe you could _knock_ next time, then.” Marcus suggested, obviously not very pleased.

“Yes, sir.” Bellamy answered, managing to make the respectful honorific sound anything _but_ respectful.

Abby shook her head, a smile on her lips. “I have to go back to Medical. Stay off that leg, Marcus, I _mean_ it.” She stood up and grabbed her medical bag, briefly resting her hand on Bellamy’s shoulder on her way out of the room. “Make sure he doesn’t overdo it.”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” Marcus complained to her retreating back.

Abby ignored him.

She knew better. Something would come up, he would forget all about taking it easy and he would end up right back where they had started with her having to patch him up.

Next time, though, she would remember to _lock_ the door.


	43. Arkadia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby isn’t sure burning the _Camp Jaha_ sign sends the right message but the kids tossed it in the fire with such enthusiasm before mounting the new sign across the main doors that she hasn’t found it in her to stop them. They meant the name as a tribute when they first touched the ground but _Arkadia_ is maybe a more fitting one anyway. A promise of a new way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some S2-S3 fluff!

Abby isn’t sure burning the _Camp Jaha_ sign sends the right message but the kids tossed it in the fire with such enthusiasm before mounting the new sign across the main doors that she hasn’t found it in her to stop them. They meant the name as a tribute when they first touched the ground but _Arkadia_ is maybe a more fitting one anyway. A promise of a new way.

She watches, from the mouth of the station, as the kids laugh and dance to the stereo system Raven managed to hook on the camp’s speakers and she feels old. She can’t remember the last time she’s been _that_ carefree. She knows it’s most likely just a front, that most of those kids are haunted by what happened at the mountain, but that’s the strength of youth: it’s resilient.

When Abby thinks back to Mount Weather, she cannot help the chill that runs down her spine or the churn of her stomach.

“I didn’t get the memo about a party.”

She startles and a hand falls on her arm, steadying her – _always_ steadying her.

She’s starting to wonder how she functioned for so long without Marcus Kane at her side to balance her out and it is a frightening thought all in itself.

His reckon team passed the doors a little after the party started and the fact he hasn’t come to find her first thing tells her there is nothing to report. No Grounder sighting and no Clarke. She will ask anyway, _later_.

“Apparently, tossing Jaha in the fire was a long fantasy of theirs and it calls for celebration.” she answers, fighting a smile because she shouldn’t find it _that_ funny.

It’s hard not to feel resentful though, not to hold a grudge. She might have pardoned their former Chancellor for coming back from Lexa’s camp without Marcus, but she wouldn’t forgive suggesting abandoning him or trying to _seize_ power back or even leaving them to die and leading good people away to their probable death.

“Who was brave enough to sell you that?” Marcus chuckles and she tries not to notice how deep the sound is.

There are a lot of things she tries not to notice about Marcus lately. How the shadows from the campfires play on his face, making his eyes shine in the dark… How the stubble he hasn’t bothered to shave in a few days is developing in a strangely attractive beard… How his hair seems wild and untamed and how she longs to run her fingers through it just to…

“Bellamy.” she shrugs because it’s obvious. She softens when her eyes fall on the slightly drunk young man who is dancing with Harper as if there will be no tomorrow. There’s something desperate to his movements. She can understand. She’s desperate to forget too. “I think he wanted to do something nice for the kids.”

And it worked. Mostly. Even Jasper crawled out from his hiding place. The boy isn’t dancing or laughing but he’s drinking and answering when people talk to him. It’s progress, she supposes. He doesn’t shrug Monroe’s hand off when she places it on his shoulder.

“He’s not doing too well.” Marcus tells her, his gaze still on Bellamy.

It isn’t really necessary. She knows. She knows because of the guilt that flashes on the boy’s face every time he dares meet her eyes. He’s been out there for days after Mount Weather, leading teams and going off alone despite Marcus’ strict orders. Then, he felt guilty because he failed to find Clarke. Now, he feels guilty because it’s been weeks and it’s become clear Clarke won’t be found until she wants to.

She stays silent because she doesn’t really know what to say.

She’s not doing too well either, truth be told, but she’s the Chancellor and the Chancellor isn’t really allowed to let her personal problems get in the way.

Still, she’s grateful when Marcus leans against the wall next to her, his shoulder and arm pressed against hers. It’s a comfort to know she’s not alone, that she’s _never_ alone.

She watches Gina take Harper’s place, watches Bellamy’s face slowly turn to more genuine mirth… She hasn’t entirely been oblivious to that development. She hasn’t been _spying_ but… She isn’t sure what’s going on between Clarke and Bellamy exactly, she is pretty sure nothing _romantic_ happened but it is obvious to her they are close, closer than mere friends, and she’s been watching because…

Because she’s Clarke’s mother and she’s looking out for her? It seems stupid. Clarke left and Bellamy has been miserable for weeks. Besides, Gina is a nice kind-hearted girl.

“I have a feeling he will get better.” she comments eventually when Gina loops her arms around the boy’s neck and Bellamy wraps his around her waist. She says it in a teasing tone, not judgmental but _glad_ because Bellamy’s been through enough and deserves some kind of happiness.

Marcus’ face is pensive, though.

“Griffin women aren’t so easy to forget, you know.” he jokes after a couple of minutes. “It doesn’t matter how beautiful or perfect the other girl is. I guarantee no matter how angry he will find himself at Clarke’s side again.”

There is a note of yearning in his voice that makes her look at him with uncertainty. Her heart is racing in her chest, thumping so loud she’s almost surprised it doesn’t cover the loud beats of the music. “Marcus?”

The look on his face is so vulnerable, so open…

She wonders what he means exactly. How long? Why he didn’t say anything. She wonders if the other girl was Callie and how much of a terrible person it makes her to never find time to grieve her best friend. She wonders if…

He turns to face her, his shoulder still against the wall, encasing her a little… He’s not trapping her, he’s not pinning her there, her left side is wide open and she can easily slip away if she wants to. But she _doesn’t_ want to.

She mirrors his position, turning her back on the rest of the world, creating a safe place between the two of them, a private bubble. He lifts his hand and it hovers uncertainly for a second or two before tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. They’re mostly out of sight in the shadow of the station so she leans into his hand.

It’s thrilling.

It’s such a simple thing it shouldn’t be _that_ thrilling.

He cups her cheek, his thumb runs over her cheekbone and she holds her breath, doesn’t quite dare take a step forward… Their eyes meet and his gaze is so tender… He leans in slowly and she tilts her head to the side, fisting his jacket in her hand, tugging him closer, eager to…

His radio crackles to life.

_“Sir, can you come check the south fence? I think it’s going to fall apart.”_ Miller’s voice requests.

They both sigh but move back, smiling at each other with some awkward embarrassment.

“The south fence is collapsing?” she worries – because she is a responsible Chancellor who has her priorities straight.

“I asked Sinclair to look into it.” he offers. “It doesn’t look as safe as the rest of the perimeter to me.” He reaches for his radio. “On my way, Miller.”

The response is immediate. _“Copy that, sir.”_

Marcus rubs the back of his neck and points in the vague direction of the south. “I have to…”

“Yes.” she agrees readily. A little too readily maybe. Now that they’re not caught up in the moment... “Give me a report, after? I’m going to the war room. I still have some work to do.”

“I’ll check it out and come and help you.” he promises.

She doesn’t bother to protest. First because she _needs_ his help and then because he will give it no matter if she wants him to or not. It’s how their evenings usually go: in the war room, reviewing reports to find how best to make the camp grow and studying various requests for more housings. The two of them can barely keep on top of everything. If she were alone…

“Bring tea.” she demands.

“Yes, ma’am.” he chuckles.

She watches him leave with a small smile, admiring his figure in the campfires’ light, not quite sure of what just happened and what it means.

They fell from the sky together, her hand trapped in his, his arm around her shoulders as if he had any chance of protecting her from being blown apart…

They fell from the sky together and, she thinks, maybe they are still falling.


	44. Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to be in an Ark mood lately haha! So you get some good old Ark times!

Abby stormed out of the Council room, still fuming from the heated session. It had gone too far. Debates were all well and good, debates that escalated to outright political wars weren’t unheard of, but shouting and slamming fists on the table like what had just happened? Bolting out of chairs and name calling? Being _scolded_ by the Chancellor like children at kindergarten?

Granted she shouldn’t have called Kane an asshole.

But he shouldn’t have stood up and slammed his palm on the table to make her stop talking. Even if she had run out of time and it had been his turn and even if she had been viciously tearing his character down to shreds.

She hated having to sit there and being forced to see him. She hated his smugness. She hated…

The hand that closed around her arm was anything but gentle and she barely had time to shout a “Hey!” before she was dragged to the closest empty room. A security post of some kind where a guard was slouched on his chair, not really paying attention to what was happening on the numerous monitor.

“Out!” Kane growled and the guard scrambled up and out of that room with a frightened _“Yes, sir.”._ Once the door had closed behind the poor guy, he straightened up, using his superior height to look down at her.

Abby sneered at the obvious and not so subtle power display, shrugging his grip off. She didn’t try to step away. First because the room was little more than a glorified cupboard and there wouldn’t be far to go and then because she absolutely _refused_ to be intimidated.

“What do you want?” she hissed.

“You can’t talk to me like that, Abby.” he spat, anger dripping out in his every word. Apparently she wasn’t the only furious party here. “Certainly not in front of the Council.”

“Why? Are you afraid you will lose points?” she mocked. “Are you afraid they will think you can’t defend your opinion? What sort of would-be Chancellor would…”

“Oh, _please_.” he scoffed. “You think it reflects well on _you_? Calling me names instead of arguing your case? What sort of _would-be Chancellor_ would even plead a case you know you don’t have?”

She clenched her jaw and glared at him, jutting her chin in the air, annoyed to be forced to _look up_ , to do so properly. “I’m right.”

“No, you’re not.” he snorted, almost mocking. “Because if you were we both know you would have made a stronger case instead of calling me a power hungry asshole.”

He looked so smug, so sure of himself… She wasn’t a violent person, she _wasn’t_ but there were days she wanted to _rip_ that smugness off his face.

“That’s what you _are_.” she retorted.

She wanted him to lose countenance but his earlier anger seemed to be gone now – or at least very well hidden. He looked like he always looked lately: cold, calm and detached.

“If this is about Jake…” he started.

“Don’t you dare say his name.” she warned, taking a step forward, very much in his space. He didn’t move. Then again, she supposed it was hard to be intimidating when she barely reached his shoulder. “Don’t you _dare_.”

“Does it help you sleep better at night to pile it all on me?” he growled and there it was again: the anger. “I’m not the one who went to Jaha.”

“No, you’re the one who included Clarke in the charges.” she snapped. “You’re the one who let himself be _used_. If you hadn’t…”

“If _I_ hadn’t done it, someone else would have.” he shouted right back. “And I thought you would defend him, Abby… I thought…”

“Are you _seriously_ putting that on me?” she cut him off.

“You _abstained_.” he accused.

“And you voted _for_.” she snarled. “You voted to float your best friend.”

“And you abstained from voting _against_ floating your husband.” he scowled. “And you did it because you _knew_ it was the right call.”

She gritted her teeth, breathing fast and blinking hard against the familiar burn of tears in her eyes. He was right, of course, when it came down to it, she was the one who was responsible. She had gone to Jaha and Jaha…

“You included Clarke in the charges.” she insisted. It came out a little too weak.

“She was involved.” he argued.

“She is seventeen and you’ve known her since she was born.” she spat. “You _held_ her the day she was born. And you’ve sentenced her to death. You were our friend and…”

And she missed him, that was maybe the worst thing about the whole thing. She hated Marcus Kane. She _did_. How could she not? But she missed his friendship. Even when they used to fight and argue about politics, it had never gotten as nasty and personal as it now did. And she was willing to admit she was often the one who made it nasty but…

“Abby…” he sighed, reaching for her shoulder.

She batted his arm away. “No! It isn’t about this anyway. It’s about you and your stupid proposal…”

“My proposal is good and you know it.” he scowled. “You’re just being your usual stubborn self and opposing just to get back at me. It’s all about Jake. It’s always all about…”

She shoved him against the door. Hard. He stumbled back but she figured it was mostly because he hadn’t been expecting a physical attack. He should have known better.

“Stop saying his name!” she demanded, slamming a fist against his chest, annoyed to find it so hard under her hand she doubted he would so much as _bruise_. “Stop saying his name! You don’t get to say his name. Everything is your fault. Everything is your fault!”

She hit him again. She hit him three times and the only reason he let her was probably because he was shocked she would go that far. He could arrest her for this. He could arrest her and maybe even had her floated if he played his cards right. But he wouldn’t. That was the worst thing. She knew he wouldn’t. Because he _was_ a power hungry asshole but not _that_ kind of power hungry asshole. And she hit him a fourth time for it because she had betrayed Jake so many times and maybe that was what she deserved. She would have hit him again but he grabbed her wrists and when she struggled, he rolled them over and pinned _her_ against the door.

“Abby…” he said again, sounding far too sad and knowing.

“Everything is your fault.” she insisted, her voice breaking. She stopped fighting him. What was the point? He was bigger, stronger and unlike her he didn’t intend to hurt her.

“Fine. Okay. Everything is my fault.” he said quickly. He let go of her wrists and let his hands hover awkwardly over her shoulders. He didn’t give her back her space. It was intimate. Too intimate. It was like a hug but without actual contact. “I know you hate me but, please, can I just…”

She scoffed at that and met his eyes, lips pursed tight and blinking hard, unable to keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks. Something passed between them, then. Something they might have been denying and burying deep for some time. Since before Jake’s arrest. Since her marriage had started deteriorating. Since Jake had gotten angry with her for not seeing his point about telling the truth versus hiding it. Since Marcus had been there every time, a helpless witness to the months of hell they had all gone through, always willing to listen to her and lend comfort when necessary.

Political opponents hadn’t meant enemies, then.

It had just added tension to their friendship. A tension that had slowly turned into something neither of them had been willing to acknowledge, least of all _her._ But she had never been talented at lying to herself and she knew it was there, she had known it had been there for a very long time.

Yes, she had betrayed Jake in more ways than one, in thoughts if not in acts.

“Everything is your fault.” she whispered again even if it wasn’t fair.

He had never done or said anything. He wasn’t that kind of men. She had been married to his best friend and… He wasn’t that kind of men.

But if he _had_ tried, she wasn’t sure she would have stopped him. Not with the constant fights Jake and her had gotten into for the last few months of his life, not with Clarke systematically siding with her father even back when she hadn’t known what it was about. She had been so _lonely_ and Marcus had been a good friend…

And now…

Now he had floated her husband and had arrested her daughter and if it had been wrong before, being attracted to him _still_ …

“Abby.” he whispered, finally settling his hands on her shoulders. He did it carefully, as if not sure she wasn’t going to start hitting him again. She didn’t, _couldn’t._ Not when he said her name like _that_ , as if it was something _precious_. “I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t sure what he was sorry about. For obeying Jaha’s orders or for the forbidden thrill of this almost embrace?

He sounded sincere though, so far from the heart cold cruel Commander he now behaved like that she found her last barriers crumbling.

With a slow breath, she surrendered.

She bowed her head and dropped her forehead on his shoulder. When she felt his hands hesitantly move, one of them cradling the back of her skull and the other pulling her closer, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her whole weight against him.

She didn’t cry.

She bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood but she refused to break into a sobbing mess.

His fingers tangled in her braid and she felt his mouth being pressed to the top of her head.

“I feel guilty too.” he said quietly.

_About which part?_ , she wanted to ask but she had a good idea. Like her. About the whole thing.

“I can’t do this.” she murmured.

His fingers clenched on her shoulder and she tightened her embrace a little. It felt right. Being in his arms. It felt right and that was the worst thing.

“It’s too soon.” he agreed.

“No.” she countered sadly.  “I can’t… Not with _Clarke_ … And… It’s too complicated, Marcus.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she had called him _Marcus_. He had been _Kane_ ever since Jake’s death.

“If the Earth thing works out…” he hesitated.

“If the Earth thing works out, you will still be the man who arrested her father…” she said. “She will never understand.”

And she would never know the truth either. It was cowardly on Abby’s part to let Wells take the blame but… She couldn’t bear the thought of Clarke knowing the truth. Jake had been Clarke’s hero, she had always been closer to him than to Abby… There would be no forgiving _that_. And she didn’t want to lose her baby. Not to an airlock. Not for a man.

He was silent for a long time. Eventually, he rested his cheek against the top of her head. “We didn’t do a bad job of keeping it… _friendly_ before. We could keep it in this room. Never talk about it. We could be _friends_ again.”

There was a note of yearning in his voice and she wondered if he missed the easy companionship at lunch or late drinks in each other’s office as much as she did. They never agreed on anything but it was good to have a friend to share things with.

“I have to hate you.” she confessed. “I _have_ to hate you or…”

Or she would fall apart.

Or fall into him.

But she wasn’t sure the two weren’t the same thing.

“ _I_ can’t.” he shrugged, drawing back a little, cupping her cheek… For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her. For a second, he probably thought about it. She wasn’t sure what would have happened _then_. He licked his lips instead, his features schooling into that detached expression she hated. “What happened at the Council session… It can’t happen again. You can’t just attack me for the hell of it. The Ark has to come first. _Our people_ have to come first.”

“They always come first.” she argued defensively, hurt that he would imply she would think otherwise.

“Then, let’s keep it professional from now on, okay?” he asked, dropping his hands off her, stepping back…

She didn’t understand how he could go from being _Marcus_ to the _Commander of the Guards_ so easily but she hated it. She hated that person he wanted to be so badly, the all powerful man who would control everything.

“No problem.” she scowled, wiping her still wet cheeks with her sleeves, annoyed by what had just happened. Why had she let her guard down? She should have known better. She should have…

“I’m not your enemy, Abby.” he said quietly, reaching for the door’s handle. She stepped aside. “You can hate me all you want, I’ll _never_ be your enemy.”

She wasn’t sure that was true and she didn’t acknowledge it in any way.

He seemed disappointed but he didn’t comment on it.

He just left.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and reminded herself what the important thing was: find a way to save Clarke and the Ark. Everything else… Everything else was secondary to that.


	45. Her Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay THAT EPISODE WAS AWESOME AM I RIGHT????? I need to write some kabby to go with it so here is a little missing scene for 5x02 – The Red Queen.
> 
> There’s also another modern au one shot coming so keep an eye out for that too maybe ;)

Abby is still processing when they make their way back to their bunkroom. Her head hurts but she has become used to that, her eyes feel puffy and she feels like something huge and invisible is sitting on her chest, crushing her. _Grief_.

Someone has to tell Ethan, she reminds herself of that. Someone has to tell Ethan about Jaha and that someone will more than likely have to be her or Marcus, if not the two of them together.

A more pressing concern than Jaha is the new order Octavia has just imposed. _You are Wonkru or you are the enemy of Wonkru._

She can still smell the blood.

She has seen death before, she’s intimately acquainted with it, she’s seen people kill each other but never quite like that. For sports. For survival, maybe, but it has been made a spectacle and _that_ …

_Conclave’s rule_.

She’s still processing.

“Abby.”

Hands rest lightly on her shoulders and steer her away from her bunkroom’s door. She blinks and lets Marcus guide her to the small room he’s been allotted as their leader. She has never been in there yet. The unspoken invitation has been floating in the air but she has never taken it.

The room is small and feels even smaller once the door closes behind them. There’s a bed and a small table and not much else. Marcus’ clothes are folded on the floor, always so meticulous even without proper stocking space. The bed is made and she sits on the scratchy blanket gingerly, almost unwilling to disturb that small corner of order in the surrounding chaos.

She doesn’t ask why she’s here. She knows.

“So, we’re in Rome now?” she asks tiredly.

She _is_ tired, that’s the thing. Tired of the fight for survival. Tired of being a mother who has lost her daughter countless times. Tired of the headaches that should have long subsided. Tired of…

Marcus sits on the bed next to her and rubs his forehead. His eyes are closed and it occurs to her that he’s tired too.

_I couldn’t bear to lose you_. _I’d just gotten you back. The world was ending right before our very eyes and I thought I could weather any storm as long as you were by my side._

She was so angry with him for having saved her against her will, for having _imposed_ her another fight for survival… But it wasn’t until he said those words, until he asked her if she regretted opening the door for him – damning their people and perhaps her daughter too – that she truly understood it. And maybe forgave.

It’s hard to say if she’s still angry now.

She’s tired. So tired.

“I don’t know…” he says at last, a minute too late. “I don’t know what that’s going to mean.”

_Nothing good_ , she wants to answer. _Probably something that will prompt you to risk your life again_ , is the next thought she swallows back.

She doesn’t say anything because his shoulders are slouched and he looks defeated. She doesn’t need to ask to know he’s thinking about Jaha.

Tentatively, she reaches for his head. He startles when he feels her fingers combing his hair and the way he looks at her… It’s hopeful and pleading all at once.

_I’m not going to apologize for saving your life, Abby_.

She forces a small smile and his body relaxes with _relief_. He leans towards her until their foreheads are pressed together.

“I love you.” he whispers.

And that’s not an apology, not even remotely, but it’s a plea for mercy, a plea for her forgiveness, a plea for her to stop locking him out of her life.

“I love you.” she breathes out.

And _this_ is an apology, a frank and open one, it isn’t quite a plea for mercy but it _is_ a plea for forgiveness, a thank you for being welcome back into his life.

The kiss is gentle, almost hesitant, tentative like their first one never was. It turns desperate soon enough.

Because death is knocking at their doorstep again.

Because she doesn’t know if they will still be alive tomorrow.

She wonders when they will be able to stop _staying alive_ and start to _live_.

She wonders if they ever will be _allowed_ to.

But when she’s with him… When she’s with him she _feels_ alive, she knows _why_ she wants to stay that way…

He is her light out of the dark. And she won’t get lost in the darkness again.

 

  

 

 


	46. Old Boring French Movies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthay @Akachankami! Have a little something that is half crack and half fun! I hope you enjoy it and have an awesome birthday! Lots of love to my favorite beta! <3

“We are _so_ not going to watch a chick flick.” Bellamy straight out refused, in a tone that broke no possible argument. “Bring your friends to that.”

Octavia folded her arms in front of her chest, her eyes glaring daggers at her brother. “We’re _not_ going to watch stupid soldiers shooting everything on sight for two hours just to reassure your virility either.”

Marcus sighed and rubbed his eyes, studying the several advertisement posters lined up in the cinema’s hall. He had been studying them for ten long minutes and, by then, he could probably have recited the cinema’s program by heart.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like _that,_ he mused. When he had suggested a _family outing_ that morning – mostly to put an end to the endless arguments between the two siblings – he had had in mind something more… _relaxing_.

They should have agreed on a movie beforehand probably.

He was still learning how to parent teenagers. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t had the lead-up from infancy to actual hormonal tornadoes with bad tempers. By the time he had taken Bellamy and Octavia in, they had both been self-reliant.

“What about…” he tried.

“We’re _not_ watching an old French movie either, Kane.” Octavia cut him off.

Bellamy didn’t protest that statement and Marcus rolled his eyes. Trust them to agree when it came to contradicting _him_.

“Fine.” he retorted, fishing his wallet from his pocket and handing the boy a couple of bills. “Then go get popcorn and don’t come back until you’ve figured out what you want to watch.”

It seemed like a risky bet – because knowing them, they might not come back _at all_ – but the power of pocket money was, as usual, too enticing to resist. Octavia snatched the bills before Bellamy could and sauntered away, followed by her brother who loudly warned they weren’t getting the sugary kind of popcorn because he wanted the salty one.

With another sigh, Marcus glanced around to make sure they weren’t the main attraction. _That_ happened a lot: their arguments escalating so far that passersby stopped to watch or mumble under their breath about ill-educated brats.

Not that he _ever_ let anyone call his kids _brats_.

He was glad to find nobody had been paying them any attention. There were a few parents trying to keep their excited children under control, a few couples more interested in each other than on how fast the queue to the ticket booth was advancing… He was about to get in line – fervently hoping Bellamy and Octavia _would_ have chosen a movie before he reached the booth – when something attracted his eyes.

Well, _someone_.

The woman was _striking_. Long dark blond, almost brown, hair that flowed down on her shoulder, a little wild from the wind, delicate features that were schooled into an angry scowl, a red coat open on dark pants and a blue v-neck shirt… She strode inside the cinema as if she owned the place.

She was beautiful and he would probably have noticed her even if she hadn’t seemed to be storming away from a younger man in an expensive suit who looked even angrier than she was. For a second, she looked around, a flicker of despair flashing on her face…

When the guy roughly grabbed her arm, Marcus frowned, jaw clenched. She shook the hand off and glanced around again, so _obviously_ looking for a possible escape…

Their eyes met.

How could they not when he had been so rudely _staring_?

She seemed to hesitate for a moment but then determination replaced the anxiety on her face and she stormed toward him. He briefly wondered if _that_ was a thing. Did she always walk like that? With that purpose and that self-righteousness? Did she storm _everywhere_?

“Here you are!” she called out with a hesitant smile and pleading eyes. “I’m _so_ sorry I’m late, honey. I had an emergency surgery.”

_Honey_.

He opened his mouth, not quite sure how he was going to answer that to be honest, and then closed it when he realized the guy who was harassing her was _still_ following her. It was a bold game she was playing, accosting a stranger that way, hoping he would play along.

_And yet_ , he felt himself smile in answer and outstretch a hand as if it was totally natural. She grabbed it without a second thought but with noticeable relief.

He could understand that.

The guy may have been younger than both of them but she was a small woman and he looked agitated enough to become a potential physical threat.

“No problem.” Marcus lied smoothly, not so subtly using the grip on her hand to nudge her slightly behind him. “I haven’t been waiting long. Who’s your friend?”

His tone was less than friendly and the guy visibly cringed, suddenly uncertain. Marcus was well aware he had an authoritative charisma and he had never hesitated to use that to his advantage.

“You can hide behind your boyfriend all you want, you _will_ pay for this, Abby.” the guy spat.

“Sorry, we haven’t been introduced.” Marcus retorted, now bordering on angry himself. “ _Detective_ Marcus Kane. And you are?”

Understanding dawned on the guy’s face and he stepped back, a bitter sneer on his lips. “So, that’s what it’s about? You’re dating the _police_?”

“It’s about you sanctioning illegal bone marrow transplants, Cage.” she snapped. “I _told_ you I wouldn’t let you get away with it. I’ve already contacted the authorities. It’s done. _You’re_ done.”

Marcus hid his surprise, not _quite_ having expected something like that. That was… much bigger than what he had thought this was.

“Hey, Abby!” Octavia exclaimed, suddenly reappearing at his side, her eyes immediately zooming in on his and the woman’s clasped hands.

“Hello, Abby.” Bellamy greeted more carefully, studying Cage with a frown. “Everything’s alright?”

“You’re going to pay for this.” the guy insisted, his eyes darting from Marcus to Bellamy, quickly drawing the conclusion that he was no match for both of them – or _either_ of them, really. “Your boyfriend won’t always be around to protect you.”

“Just try me.” Marcus challenged – which might not have been the cleverest approach but he _did_ hate that kind of wealthy young jerks who thought the whole world should bow to their father’s checkbook. It would only take _one_ threat against him and he would arrest him on the spot.

Unfortunately, despite all his fantasies of tossing the idiot in a cell full of drunk people, Cage stormed away with another sneer.

At his side, the woman relaxed, letting out a long shaky breath.

“Who was that creep?” Octavia asked in the silence that followed, looking at the man’s departing back as if she longed to stab it.

“No one.” the woman immediately answered with a small smile. “What are the two of you doing here?”

“Catching a movie with your boyfriend apparently.” Bellamy snorted, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“Right.” Octavia grinned, her attention swiftly coming back to their hands. “Is _that_ why you dragged us here tonight, Kane? To tell us?” She looked around with a frown. “Where’s Clarke? How come she doesn’t get the ‘surprise, we’re dating’ treatment?  ”

Marcus opened and closed his mouth twice, looking from the stranger to his adoptive children, wondering _what the hell_ was going on now and what it had to do with _Clarke Griffin_ of all people. He knew the teenager well enough, she was always around the house either on Octavia’s invite or on Bellamy’s but…

“Clarke’s at home.” the woman answered with a frown of her own and then her whole face lit up when she looked up at him. “Oh, you’re _that_ Marcus Kane…”

“Is there more than one?” he asked, half-dumbfounded and half-serious.

“I’m Clarke’s mother.”  she said.

And it _clicked_.

Because there was no escaping tales of Clarke’s mother around the kids and their friends. Doctor Abby Griffin, the widow who opened her house to all teenagers in need, who patched them up when hurt, fed them when hungry, scolded them when needed and pieced them back together when they fell apart.

“Abby.” he ventured.

“Abby.” she confirmed with a bright smile. “I heard _a lot_ about you.”

“I think it’s easy to say I heard _more_ about you.” he chuckled.

Bellamy and Octavia exchanged a long complicated look and then simultaneously rolled their eyes.

“You know what?” Bellamy grumbled. “We’re going to catch that movie. Just take Abby to the old boring French thing, okay?”

They were gone before he could protest or even demand they give some of the popcorn _he_ _had paid for_.

And he was left to face the potentially awkward situation.

“You should press charges.” he winced, once the kids were out of earshot. “If you want to stop by tomorrow, I’ll take the statement down myself.”

“That’s very nice.” She was smiling and he couldn’t help but think she looked… A little too amused. A couple of seconds went by and then she cleared her throat, lowering her eyes. “Can I get my hand back?”

He let go as if he had been burned, unable to believe he had still been holding it.

“Sorry.” he mumbled.

“I should be the one saying sorry.” she dismissed. “I’m the one who took you hostage. And confused your kids, I guess.”

He rolled his eyes. “They’re just happy to avoid watching an _old boring_ French movie.”

She shrugged. “I like old boring French movies if you want company.”

Would any sane man have refused that kind of proposition?


End file.
